


let's get it all wrong

by nezkah



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Attraction, Mutual Pining, One-Sided Attraction, Sexual Tension, UNTIL THE MISTAKE HAPPENS ANYWAY, lots of incredibly awkward behavior, someone get this boy a belt, star-crossed lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2020-02-04 09:18:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 75,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18601585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezkah/pseuds/nezkah
Summary: alternate title: four times Junkrat took Symmetra hostage and one time she kidnapped himTo be fair, not all were on purpose and not all were technically hostage situations, but the fact of the matter is Jamie had developed a bad habit of running into Satya all the same, and they usually didn’t end up parting ways without some form of ‘secondary location’ involved.  But you can’t really say the word ‘kidnap’ or ‘hostage’ without the word ‘trouble’ being somehow involved, and while the line between kidnapper and kidnapped can start to blur it’s all fun and games until someone decides to come along and hit you with a dictionary.(a vaguely, VAGUELY megamind-inspired fic... and then it all goes off the rails.  I just wanted to write a simple, lighthearted fic but now the characters are talking about their philosophical differences :/ )If you're ever checking in to see if this fic is still in progress: it's still in progress. I'll stop working to finish this story and 'make it real' when I'm fucking dead.





	1. Mexico City

The meeting had gone well enough although, as always, Satya had barely spoken, and it was clear when she had that what she had to say might have better been expressed by someone else.  Or not expressed at all. She was not, after all, meant to be the one closing deals. But there were sometimes things she couldn’t help but address, and although any admonishments from Sanjay were usually gentle they sometimes still chafed, even when he pointed out that it was simply logical that her ire would be more properly directed toward their potential clients—although never, of course, stated to them.

It only irked her more that he was right.  

She understood.  But it made it no less frustrating, and so she had insisted on walking back to the Vishkar campus—their small but sufficient property with lodging and a cantina and—as Sanjay had put it—‘room to grow’.  With any luck his dealings with Portero would prove that statement true.

The cool night air and the reaffirming sound of her own footsteps provided a much freer backdrop for her thoughts.  It was not terribly late but the streets were largely empty all the same. Taking advantage of the Festival de Mexico had practically guaranteed there would be no interference from any of the locals and had furthermore simply provided relief in the quiet it instilled in the corporate and political districts.  Clever, as always. Sanjay admittedly had a much better knack for such things than she did.

A loud _boom_ sounded, loud enough that she imagined she could feel the earth tremble with it.  The festivities had begun nearly an hour earlier and the fireworks had already been sending sparks high into the air when she had left the embassy.  She supposed they had decided to bring out the big ones to kick-off the true festivities and she turned, allowing herself a glance back toward the sky.  It was only smoke and the sparse glittering of fireworks that she had missed and she took a breath, releasing it slowly as if the distraction had been an opportunity for her to brush some of her irritation away.  A car whooshed past fast enough to bring a faint rush of air with it and pulled her from her thoughts. She blinked as the world rushed back.

She was nearly there.  There was no sense delaying it.  And, if she wished, she could spend a bit of time in the gardens that bumped up against the Vishkar campus... depending on how disruptive the fireworks were—beautiful enough to allow her mind to go blank or loud enough to be a less pleasant distraction.

Satya turned, pushed open the gate, and stepped into the cooler air of the tree-lined path.  She could see the lights of Vishkar in the distance and she breathed in, released it as a sigh, and started toward it.

Something moved in front of her far more quickly than she had been prepared for.

Maybe it was her distraction that allowed it, maybe she’d relaxed her mind thoroughly enough that she’d simply missed any signs of it, but it was there nonetheless.  It was a shadow for only a moment; in the bright, clean light of the garden lamps it quickly came into stark reality as it loomed above her—the shape of a large, hulking figure, bare-chested and imposing and, to her dismay as she lifted her eyes to the face, masked.  It was a simply massive form and as the eyes of the mask tilted downward in what she assumed was an examination of her its head tipped to the side and drew her attention to the topknot that bobbed ever-so-slightly at the top of its head.

She stopped in her tracks.  And she had little time to do anything other than stare, wide-eyed, before she heard a voice behind her some distance off but not far away enough to inspire confidence.

“Pardon him, love.  My mate Roadie doesn’t know the way to greet a lady.”  

It was an odd voice.  The accent was unmistakably Australian in its drawl but the voice itself was both reedy and rough, and while her mind was preoccupied with the man in front of her the tone seemed both jaunty and apologetic all at once.  And hurried. Subtly so, but there. It was enough that she turned, looking cautiously away from the large man and taking a step back to find the owner of the voice in her line of sight.

He was thin.  Ridiculously so in comparison to the other one, and she barely had time to take in his features—sharp-nosed, wild-haired, and what she had thought were stubborn shadows on his face proving on further inspection to be nothing more than streaks of soot—before a wide grin split them, white teeth and a glint of gold piercing through the ash.  He raised himself from his somewhat stooped posture and lifted his hand to splay his fingers over his chest with a voice lilting jovially over the words.

“The name’s Fawkes.  Jamison Fawkes.”

Satya blinked.  It was all still incomprehensible and she wasn’t certain if any of it were truly happening, but as he lowered his hand in an offer of introduction for her to shake she realized it was metal.  A prosthetic, and just as dirty as the rest of him, it seemed. Without her offering any immediate response he paused and looked down to it as well before uttering a quiet, high-pitched giggle, and withdrew it to replace it with his left.  It was little better in terms of both cleanliness and desirability. His palm was encased in a fingerless leather glove that appeared worn-through with the soot and likely incapable of ever being fully clean. She wrinkled her nose. Her preference would be not to take it.  

She must have hesitated long enough; he withdrew it with a careless shrug, apparently no worse for the wear for it, and tossed his thumb toward the large man.

“And that’s me mate, Roadhog.  Like I said.”

The man behind her grunted, though if she had to find some way to characterize it… ‘not unpleasantly’ might be a decent interpretation.  She had no idea what to say nor the steadiness of mind to focus on trying something meaningful, and as a result she went with the first thing that came into her head.  Something she hoped she managed to make sound contradictory.

“That’s an odd name.”

The skinny one—Jamison—leaned against the trunk of a tree, his arm raised and his elbow bearing his weight.  He had taken his right foot off of the ground as well, she realized. His right was a peg leg. Her brow furrowed further at that, because of course it was.  She had no time to further consider it; he interrupted the thoughts she was trying to scrape together.

“Oh, he’s got a real one.”  Jamison paused, squinting at the other man.  “What was…”

A low rumble of irritation cut him off as the large figure spoke through the mask in what she began to suspect was a well-trod interaction.  “Mako.”

“Right!  That’s it.  Rutledge, ain’t it?”

Jamison didn’t bother to wait for confirmation before he turned his grin back to her, the expression beaming as if he were proud of himself.  Mako’s sound of grudging confirmation came anyway. The skinny man pushed off of the wall and rested his left on his hip, pointing his right at Mako with a click of his tongue, a finger-gun, a wink, the broad grin once again exposing that glint… a gold tooth.  And bewilderingly sharpened canines.

“King Jamison Fawkes and Duke Mako Rutledge at your service!”  The statement was followed with a carefree laugh that sounded quite amused with itself.

Satya’s thoughts came to an abrupt stop as her eyes widened once again.  Of course. How on earth had she not realized sooner?

She knew them from the news and really, how could she not?  Criminals. Thieves. And they were so distinctive it was ridiculous her mind didn’t immediately identify them even with her distraction.  Her heart skipped a beat. It was a shame she was back to her senses by the time the large one spoke in a low but still-intimidating voice.

“Focus, Fawkes.”

It seemed to snap the other one back to attention.  “Oh. Right.” He was thinking, obviously, by the way his features screwed together and his eyes left her for a moment as if he might find the answer in the sky.  “Did you tell us your name?”

Despite their interaction having been less than a few minutes long it was fairly clear that he didn’t actually seem to remember.  She considered simply affirming she had, but a glance upward at the larger man… he seemed like he might be more difficult to shake off.  She didn’t feel like she had much choice but to give it.

“Satya Vaswani.”

That seemed to satisfy the lankier of the two.  His smile was less manic; oddly, it seemed genuinely appreciative.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, love.  We were—”

With her feet firmly under her once again she abruptly realized that she didn’t want to be there and the realization came with words immediately following it that didn’t much care if he was done speaking or not.

“And you as well.  I really should be going, though.”

It threw him off guard, clearly.  Unfortunately the man was fairly quick on his own feet—well, foot—and he dipped his head with an odd expression that seemed quite literally embarrassed as he spoke.

“Well, see, here’s the thing…”

She had no idea what was coming.  The tone wasn’t at all threatening, nor was his posture, but she knew with instinctive, absolute certainty that she wouldn’t like what was about to be said to her.  He was tapping his knuckles together and looking at her with a furrowed brow as she stared him down, his eyes flitting over her uncertainly as if gauging just how much reaction his words might spark.

“We’re gonna have to take you hostage.”  

It was too baffling for her to be angry.  Too alarming, as well. Neither of them seemed eager to further explain; there was silence and it lingered until she broke it with a distinct edge to her voice.

“Excuse me?”

A laugh burst from Jamison, but it wasn’t mocking—as much was immediately obvious to her.  No. Strangely enough it sounded nervous, and her conviction that she had assessed it correctly was only strengthened by the appeasement he attempted in his voice and the strange, slightly lowered posture.

“No worries, love, we just need someone to come along with us for an hour or so.  We sorta…” He stumbled on the thought and cleared his throat. “Well, I dunno if you know who we are.”

“Yes.”  As before, she nearly cut the man off with her response and he blinked at her in a way that looked surprised, a reaction that had begun to seem ridiculous.  “I do.” Her tone was hard and likely the fierceness inherent with her fast replies didn’t hurt.

“Oh!  Good.”  He puzzled for a moment over it and continued on in a way that sounded much less certain.  “Well, sorta.” The man shook his head, trying to move on. “Anyway, we got ourselves in a bit of a spot.”

Satya stared at him with determination.  It was a look that challenged him to finish the thought and he seemed even less confident as he went on.

“… right.  So we’ve got some unwanted company on our hands.”

Satya could hear sirens slowly growing in the background as if it had been on cue, or perhaps her distraction had simply kept her from hearing them from the distance, and she raised her eyes in their direction to see a high plume of smoke.  Perhaps the ‘boom’ she had heard hadn’t been fireworks after all. She returned her gaze to him abruptly, wide-eyed as the night suddenly became yet more surreal.

His features had lit up at some inner thought and he stood straight, lifting both arms in an open gesture meant, she realized, to highlight her.  

“So I reckon we oughta get some company that we wouldn’t mind havin’ along for the ride!”

It was shocking enough, his gesture, his words, that for the first time her stomach genuinely sank—or perhaps it was just the reality of it.  The ridiculous gesture, the pose he had taken… all of it was counteracted by the self-satisfied laugh, something more of a giggle. None of it seemed real and he, in particular, seemed so variable in his presentation that she was left staring as her emotions tried to decide their best course of action.  Her eyes flitted up toward the expressionless mask… the man named Mako, she reminded herself, memorizing the name. It seemed as if she could feel the stare from behind them but she had no idea how real the sensation was.

Jamison Fawkes had practically bounded around the side of her for the gesture; Mako didn’t so much as flinch as the other junker jabbed him enthusiastically in the stomach with his elbow, his chin tipping upward so that he could grin at the man excitedly.

“D’ya get it, mate?  Unwanted company, wanted company?”

She was glad he hadn’t originally used that exact phrasing.  There were far too many variations of ‘wanted’ that she would rather not think about.

Regardless, the man seemed quite proud of it and re-balanced, bright and cheery and carefree as he bobbed his head happily toward her.

“Thanks for completin’ our little dichotomy, love.  Let’s go!”

She didn’t have to go, possibly.  Neither of them grabbed her, neither of them threatened her explicitly—the ever-verbal Jamison Fawkes had already passed her down the pathway, in fact—but the stone-like form of Mako between herself and any easy form of exit said it well enough.

She hesitated for a moment longer.  Jamison’s voice was already getting further away, and while she had no doubt he would be an easy one to distract there was still Mako to consider.

She shook herself.  It wasn’t worth the risk in close quarters and going with them didn’t feel like an immediate danger.  Once she made the decision it freed her assess the actual threat toward her, and while a glance at Mako served as a reminder, as she turned to follow the tall form of Jamison chatting amicably to no one in particular—a fact that she was fairly certain he wasn’t aware of—it was a comfort to think that if it came to needing to escape her luck might be better pushed with him as a target.

  


* * *

  


Things didn’t seem to have gone as they planned, and while the situation hadn’t allowed Satya much flexibility in the first place she couldn’t help the irritation that whatever few plans she had created—whatever few things she had been promised—most certainly didn’t go as expected.

She hadn’t been ready for a car chase.  She hadn’t been ready to be held up by Mako while Jamison hunkered out of view behind her for her to serve as a human shield—despite whatever she had expected being a hostage to entail.  She hadn’t ever really considered the idea much before. It wasn’t something she ever penciled in on her career path.

Neither was she particularly thrilled by the megaphone issuing warnings to their authorities pursuing them, or the wind that had utterly destroyed whatever order her hair had been clinging to, or the dust their haste kicked up that she could feel as a film on the back of her neck.

She likely ought to have been afraid, particularly considering the threats against her life that had been blared out infuriatingly close to her ear by the megaphone, but fear was the farthest thing from what she felt in her nerves.  Maybe it had something to do with her introduction to them: the general strangeness and slight sense of incompetence. The lack of any overt threat. But even if there was fear there it had no chance of forcing itself in between the irritation and—once their flight slowed and any sign of the law was no longer in sight—a quickly growing impatience and deeply-rooted anger.

By the time their vehicle slowed to a stop it was at a level that she felt it needed to be expressed, and before anything further could be done she addressed both of them coldly, although she knew it was more addressed to Jamison than Mako.

“You _said_ one hour.”

Jamison seemed to recognize the anger wasn’t exactly equally distributed and he was halfway out of the car and blinked, frozen for a second before the shock wore off.  His glance toward Mako was uncertain and unhelpful and he cleared his throat as he looked back to her with his teeth gritted in some sort of nervous expression that she assumed was intended to be an mollifying smile, poorly done and more uneasy than anything else.

“Right, well… things didn’t exactly go as planned.”

She knew as much, intimately so.  It was a poor excuse and it was clear he knew it, and he continued to put his foot on the ground more carefully with his eyes pointed down to it like a lifeline.

“Took a bit longer to shake the cops than we reckoned.  And then all the people…”

Mako tipped his head to the side with a somewhat disagreeable grunt and stepped out of the car solidly, leaving it to bob slightly once clear of his weight.  Jamison was still going, the gritted teeth still dominating his expression, one eye in a squint and his hands raised in a helpless shrug.

“ _Deffo_ didn’t really mean to end up in that parade.”  The tone for that one made it clear that even he was a bit baffled by it.  He was fully settled on the ground and had fewer excuses not to look at her but he doggedly stuck to the tactic regardless.  “Can’t say _that_ one was planned.”

She couldn’t help but wonder if Mako was both the brawn and the brains of the duo.

In truth, she wasn’t particularly interested in the details of it.  By the time they both had fully absconded—Jamison offering a hand that she pointedly ignored—a hard expression had settled on her face.  After abandoning the vehicle she opted instead to look over the building in front of her. It was a diner, clearly, adorned with a neon light indicating that it was open for business and all-in-all, if she were in even a remotely positive mood, could go so far as being called ‘charming’.

It was obvious they intended for her to go inside so she didn’t bother belaboring the point and instead marched toward the door before either of them had the opportunity to so much as speak.  She could hear the distinctive cadence of Jamison’s steps moving hurriedly after her, could see the metal hand reaching forward at her side with the obvious intent of opening the door for her, but she was faster.  She shoved it open stubbornly and ignored the too-loud ring of the bell as she stepped over the threshhold and immediately found a seat for herself at the counter, not bothering to look back. She most certainly wouldn’t be sitting in a booth with them.

Jamison stumbled to the seat at her left with a few huffs of breath and eventually Mako settled easily into the seat on the seat on her right, leaving her between the two.

It was clear they were in a less well-off part of town, if not by the exterior of the buildings and the poorly maintained streets then by the look of the other patrons in the diner.  Even with that fact she couldn’t possibly explain how they could be sitting in plain sight at the counter—two known criminals with a bounty on their heads and a woman who had clearly been involved in some kind of _very_ strange evening—and yet the few other customers scattered throughout the place were calmly eating their meals and seemingly unconcerned with her small group mere feet away.

It was absolutely incomprehensible.  If nothing else about the experience made the past few hours feel like a skewed comedy of reality that fact in particular had.  

She didn’t realize it at first but Jamison was talking to her, and she eventually spared him her attention if only to drag herself from the sense of unreality that had fallen over her.  He was smiling broadly, enough that she could see his gold tooth. His strange, discolored eyes were enthusiastic and open. If nothing else he was not the criminal she had expected, nor seen earlier in the day… although in retrospect, earlier in the day he hadn’t been acting much different.  Her perception of the situation had certainly changed, though. Eventually words broke through

“You sure you don’t want anything, love?  It’s all on the house. Anything ya want.”

Had he asked her before?  Had she simply missed it? Confusion gave way back to irritation; it didn’t much matter if he’d already asked.  Satya fixed him with a glare to back up the words.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Somehow it didn’t seem to dissuade him.  He offered again, attempting something more persuasive.  

“They’ve got some bonzer churros.”

If anything else her expression went colder and she didn’t bother responding, instead turning her gaze forward and staring across the counter.  Despite it—regrettably—she could still see him in her peripheral vision, and it seemed as though making a point to try to focus as much as possible on the wall in front of her only highlighted him more.  She could see the way his lips curled downward in what seemed to be a genuine frown and he looked at her for a moment longer before casting the same uncertain look about the diner before seeming to settle in and beckoned the man behind the counter over to place an order.  She didn’t catch the words. She wasn’t interested in them. In fact, with his attention finally elsewhere her shoulders took the opportunity to relax slightly. It wasn’t long until it was interrupted.

The man behind the counter moved in front of her and fixed her with a friendly, soothing smile and the words that came from him were offered accommodatingly in a gentle, fluid accent.  “Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

It caught her off guard and she blinked.  There wasn’t harm in a small comfort, particularly given the events of the day and the fact that she wasn’t certain how much longer the ordeal would last.  Despite the innocence of the request it took her a moment to find her bearings and took a small shake of her head to reset her thoughts.

“… I think I would enjoy some tea, yes.”

He nodded agreeably as he spoke.  “What kind?”

“Chai, please.”

The man paused as he placed his hands at the edge of the counter and leaned back with his eyes lowered and searching before he returned his attention to her with an apologetic shake of his head.

“No chai.  Sorry.”

She felt too tired even to sigh but it was worth the effort to not entirely write other options off.  “Do you have anything similar?”

“Hmm.”  He looked at her with an eye gently narrowed in thought before some assessment had been made and he smiled as he turned away.  “We’ll try champurrado.”

It was refreshing to speak to someone other than the junkers; it felt like she’d been plucked from the garden by them an eternity ago, and the man was kind and accommodating, both of which allowed her to breathe easier.  It was easy enough to block out the world before her tea arrived.

She took a sip without hesitation.  It was quite good, and indeed close enough for her tired mind.  Were she feeling more capable she would offer the man behind the counter a thank you and perhaps even a smile, but instead she simply held the mug between her hands, breathing out a sigh as she let the aroma take over her attention.  

Something pricked her senses and she lifted her head, turning her gaze to the side.  Jamison had leaned partway over the counter, watching her with a pleased smile and those same bright eyes.  A bright red drink had been set in front of him but by the looks of it he hadn’t touched it.

She had no idea what to make of it.  After a moment of staring in turn she pulled her attention abruptly back to her cup, huffing a breath of air and furrowing her brow before taking a long drink.  She had closed her eyes in an attempt to focus fully on the warm, sweet comfort of the beverage in her hands when Jamison’s voice interrupted her mid-sip and her eyes snapped open.  She felt her fingers grasp the cup more tightly but continued to hold it resolutely up, as if the solidity of it might block his existence out. It didn’t work.

“So.  Where do you wanna go now?  We can go anywhere ya like.”

She was surprised enough at the idea that she nearly choked on her drink.  Her response was slow but deliberate and she lowered the cup with it.

“I want to go home.”

She could feel his enthusiasm flag more than actually see it.  His voice dropped to something slightly quieter as he went on with less certainty in it.

“You sure?  There’s heaps of places open late.  Arcades, dance places, that sorta thing.  Could even hit up the festival. Fireworks, piñatas, food.  I reckon no one’s gonna be too interested in us. Plenty of other things to keep their attention.”

She turned her eyes to him in a fierce and unwavering stare as she glanced over him quickly.  The peg leg. The heavy-looking arm. He had to have meant as a spectator. The much more important thought came before the words; had she been safe going home hours ago?  How much time had she spent with them unnecessarily?

She clipped her tongue over the syllables, punctuating each repeated word.  

“I want to go _home_.”

His expression was taken over by a sudden frown, as if her response had somehow been unexpected.  She could see with absolute clarity the way his thought was coming to a slow, suffering end.

“Just figured we could… uh.”  He let it die under her stare and cleared his throat, looking up to Mako for guidance.  

“Roadie?  Could you…?”

The large man gave him a blunt but affirmative grunt and stood, looking over his shoulder at her in indication that she should do the same.  

“Come on.”

She was more than happy to oblige.  It was almost unbelievable, actually, that she was being allowed to go so easily.

She shoved the cup onto the counter top—abandoning it with utter carelessness—and got to her feet as well to follow close on Mako’s heels as he lumbered toward the door, only allowing herself to recognize Jamison’s peg-legged cadence moving behind her as an afterthought.  It was odd to think that she was suddenly and undeniably ecstatic to be close to the large, rough-looking man as he moved out of the diner and onto the sidewalk. Her feet held as she stopped at the curb.

Mako moved without hesitation into the middle of the street and raised a hand, his large palm more than enough to bring the car that had been approaching to a sudden, hard stop, the brakes hissing with effort.  The automobile had no roof; through the open air she could see that driver looked to be in shock. She felt a pang of sympathy for him as Mako went around the driver’s side and placed a hand on the door where the window had already been lowered, his weight pushing the automobile ever-so-slightly off-kilter.  The driver was met with Mako’s low, rumbling voice. It still carried remarkably well.

“You take passengers?”

The man nodded in a stunted, stuttering movement and without hesitation Mako looked up, clearly indicating this was her ride.  Under normal circumstances she would be less than thrilled to take a ride from a stranger, but the day was the farthest from normal she’d ever experienced.  She darted forward and slid into the backseat eagerly, her discomfort completely buried by relief.

Mako was still at the stranger’s window.  She heard the rumbling threat in his voice as he made himself clear and the man’s reply stuttered just as his movements had.

“You take her wherever she wants to go.”

“Y-yes.  Yes of course.”

Mako’s hand was out of sight for a moment before he lifted it and placed a literal gold bar in the stranger’s hand.  He hesitated before taking it. She could see the entirely unconvincing attempt at a grateful smile on his face through the rearview mirror.

She had little time to feel bad for him.  Jamison was suddenly at her window, his hands on the edge of it.

“You alright goin’ alone?”

The concern seemed to be sincere but the words were beyond belief.  Her expression registered deep bafflement and indignation at the idea before she fully processed it.

“I would prefer it.”

The meaning was absolutely clear; his presence was most certainly not wanted.  He hesitated for a second before the uneasiness of the position and his failing attempt at finding anything to say became too awkward and stepped back from the car, bobbing on his toes in a way that may have been an attempt to cheer himself.

“Yeah.  A’right.  Have a good one.”

Satya didn’t answer.  There was no obligation to and she had no interest in it regardless.

The Junkers had both withdrawn to allow the car to make its escape and she could see the white of the driver’s knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel, not so much as attempting to glance back to her.  The slight shake in his voice was understandable, but she was too tired to bother trying to comfort it in her reply.

“Where to?”

“The Vishkar campus, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this mostly for myself during downtime/major writers' block while working on Make It Real, but it became big enough that I figured I'd post it.  
> If there's any concern, this in no way means I'm done with MIR, this was just kind of a thing I couldn't get out of my head, and for general practice I guess.
> 
> anyway here, have this thing I did and have more of and will post more of
> 
> [ch. 1 companion illustration](https://nez-does-things.tumblr.com/post/185884359655/lets-get-it-all-wrong-ch-1)


	2. Rio de Janeiro: Pt. 1

 

Who would have thought the worst part of being kidnapped would be the paperwork?

Well, not the worst perhaps, but certainly just as terrible as spending time in a run-down diner with one remarkably chatty and one completely silent captor.

Fine.  That may have been an exaggeration as well, but reliving all of it was fairly unpleasant nonetheless.

Satya had been debriefed by both the local Mexican police and by Vishkar.  Both were kind—she had almost no information at all to give them, and it caused her to realize that in the chaos of all of it she’d paid very little attention to the junkers themselves, resulting in her not having anything helpful to say.  Neither the police nor Vishkar authorities were under the delusion that gathering information had been a top priority, and with everything filed away into the annals of some record-keeping department in some inconsequential file she was more than happy to settle back into her daily routines at Vishkar.  That is, until they took her hostage again.

In hindsight, it started about the way she would have expected.

 

* * *

 

Jamison struggled through a window, falling to the floor with a quiet ‘oof’ before getting himself to his feet.  He was mere feet away from her, and the sudden appearance of someone—him, especially—caused her to jump back and away in surprise, the fingers of her hand curling into a gentle fist as she raised her arm in a reflexive, subtle posture of defense.

“G'day, love!  How ya goin’?”

His tone was so _cheery_ , his posture to match, and he was standing there clear as day in the hallway, his arms akimbo, his hands on his hips and an expansive grin on his face.

In truth, maybe she had expected she would see him again; he didn’t seem like the type of person who just went away.  

She took in a deep breath and fixed him with a glare, unaware of the way she was willing gravity to lock her to the floor with steady feet as she pointed a warning gesture.

“No.”

He cocked his head to the side at the word, his brows knitting together in a look of vague confusion without the concern.

“No?”

A large hand hit the windowsill and Mako’s form followed it laboriously up a moment later.  She’d been building up to anger but the sound of the massive palm heavily hitting the surface was enough to jolt her and reset what little she’d gained.  At the very least she found her voice and began again. There was no point trying to explain the ‘no’. It had been a more general statement of dismay, anyway.

“Should I try to guess why you’re here?”

“Well, there’s—”

“Specifically, why you’re here speaking to _me_.”  

His grin disappeared entirely and his lips drew into a pout instead, the look affronted and slightly accusatory.

“Oi, who said I was here to talk to you?”

Satya’s jaw set as she stared back at him with absolutely no intent to budge.  He gave first, lifting his hands to either side of his head in a defeated gesture that held no hint of apology.

“A’right, a’right, fair’s fair.  I might be.”

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known, but hearing it made it more real somehow.  And far more unpleasant. The fact that they had an uncanny ability to find her was… not ideal, and she supposed if they were to be asking her some ‘favor’ she may as well get to the point as quickly as possible.

“Why.”

Jamison looked at her.  It was quickly evident that he was trying to hold himself back, his features screwed tight with effort.  The smile that slowly burned through it was apologetic and wincing but also held something else. Excitement, she realized, sparking underneath.  

“I reckoned we worked so well together last time, what’s the harm in one more go?”

His grin had only grown more broad and confident and his voice was louder, more solid with it as well.  Satya’s eyes widened and she could feel the anger successfully regained, her breath flaring her nostrils.

“Worked so…”  

The world came to an abrupt halt again as she tried to comprehend what he was suggesting.  It matched so poorly with reality that she was forced to shake her head and find her ground once more.  It was woefully slow in coming; Mako’s form remained perfectly still and silent and, blessedly, Jamison did the same—that same poorly-muted enthusiasm and unconvincing apology on his face.  She lowered her voice with effort and attempted to address it all again, punctuating each word carefully.

“What on earth are you talking about?”  

“Yeah!  I mean, Roadie and I got the gold, we all hit the town, had a good time, right?”

“That’s not exactly my recollection of it.”  The bewilderment in her voice was shoved roughly to the side as she clung stubbornly to her irritation and she found it easier to hold as she went on.  “I may have had a better time if I hadn’t been physically taken with you.” She paused to point a glare toward Mako, keeping her eyes solid on him as she finished.  “I’m not interested in doing it again.”

Mako shrugged, helplessly.  The large man didn’t seem interested in defending himself.  She didn’t have the time to focus her anger on him; Jamison seemed to be the real target and his voice conveniently returned first.

“Well, it’s different this time.  No chases! No runnin’ off, just hiding out for a bit, sittin’ tight.  Me an’ Roadie. You can come along, maybe have a nice, relaxin’ cuppa.”

He had invited her to voluntarily accompany them.  It briefly froze her mind; exasperation and disbelief saved her.  The emotions painted her voice but every single word he’d said was utterly destroying her ability to focus on anything helpful.  She was dodging, on the defense rather than attack, and could only pivot as best she could with each thing he suggested.

“Why do you even need me for this?”  She caught herself with a blink that prompted a pause.  “What _is_ this?”

“Thought you’d never ask!  Here, let me show you the plan…”  

He dug a piece of paper from the satchel from his side and began to unfold it.  

Perhaps it was a mixture of reflexive anger and frustration and her mind finally finding what it needed to properly express itself, but she snatched it before he could finish unfolding it and it crumpled into a jagged, miserable little flower in her hand and he looked up at her with a similar blink, clearly surprised and taken aback.  Truly, she hadn’t even noticed her own actions, nor the effectiveness of them. Unfortunately they were still already quite far down the path of bargaining, and she wasn’t even sure how they’d gotten there.

“Whatever you’re here to do I have no doubt you can manage it on your own.”

The moment of the wind being taken from his sails was over and whatever the fuel was for his dogged energy came back and came back swinging in the form of a gleeful grin.

“But it’s a jewel heist!  There’s a lot of ‘em!”

“You can collect them without me.  I’m certain you have the skill for it.”

“Well… there’s also that diamond…”

Her eyes fixed on him in a blank stare as he went on, leaning ever more slightly toward her in his attempt to be convincing.  He cleared his throat gently, voice dropped to something lower—something that attempted to be enticingly conspiratorial.

“... which is in that big case with the alarm…”

It required a pause as he awaited her answer with wide wide, expectant eyes, his spine straight as he tapped his knuckles together gently.  The expression was hesitant and uneasy, and when she offered no response it suddenly burst as he laughed, the sound a semi-apologetic, airy thing that destroyed any pretense of anything but a superficial craving.

“I really want that diamond, love.  Can we just try an’ get that diamond?”  His body was somewhat prone as he bent down again to allow him to look up at her in a pose that was meant to appease her.  

Satya, quite frankly, was utterly lost, and in the absolute silence—a total pause, the space allowing the most heated emotions to burn away—and she was left with simple bemusement that she had to wake herself from with a series of rapid blinks.  She opened her mouth to say something and then snapped her teeth shut over it before trying again with the recollection of just what type of scenario she had found herself in.

“How much of a choice do I have?”

Jamison looked immediately offended and straightened his body, but she couldn’t tell if the emotion was entirely genuine.  “Oi now, I ain’t gonna force you or anything… I just, uh…”

“You’re just going to give me very few options.”

This time it seemed… more real.  The grin had gone, replaced by an affronted stare that he held as he replied.

“Now that ain’t true.”

“Then it’s a ‘no’.”  

He opened his mouth, but Satya felt as if she had gained her balance back and amended it more firmly.  

“I would go so far as to say it’s an ‘absolutely not’.”

Somehow she had managed to forget Mako in the middle of it all.  She was reminded of his presence abruptly when he moved, a subtle thing but a shock from the statuesque pose he had taken up all the same.  The large man jabbed Jamison with an elbow and the smaller man shot him man a sour look before turning it to Satya, clearly trying to be more assertive.

“Alright.  Alright.” There was a fleeting moment in which she thought she might escape easily, but she knew the moment his eyes lit that she was miserably wrong.  It seemed a dangerous thing, the way his entire expression brightened and he stood to his full height, his eyes pointed somewhere off in the mid-distance as his mind struck upon some idea.  It was unfortunate just how quickly they snapped back to her.

“We’re gonna need you to do somethin’, then.”

It was absolutely true that he had no right to ‘need’ anything, let alone from her.  She didn’t fail to recognize it so much as it seemed to be a moot point; his abandonment of his original plan, his thinking on the fly seemed to have set him even more in the idea that it was some kind of cooperative venture, and by the time she caught up with a high-arched eyebrow he had begun to go on as if she’d already agreed to it.

“Yeah!  You just go put on a little magic show in the main lobby.”  He held his hands up one over the other, palms facing one another and fingers wiggling in a way that was clearly meant to mimic the creation of a hard light construction.  “A demo! Just somethin’ to wow ‘em for a few minutes, yeah?”

Perhaps… perhaps it was best if she just humored him, for the sake of them all.  Within the span of the long seconds that followed he held his pose without so much as a twitch with the same determined, dogged grin and she realized abruptly just how tired of all of it she was and just how unwilling she was to further any of it at all.  In some strange way even that, itself, was a relief. The word held a certain finality.

“Fine.”  

She could _hear_ his intention to speak—the quiet intake of breath in particular—and she cut him off.

“ _Fine_.”  The statement required explanation lest she feel she were simply giving everything away and she added one before he could interrupt.  “It’s one of my duties, regardless.”

It was said primarily to make her agreement to his undertaking seem like less of a loss, but it wasn’t untrue.  It was a more recent development, really; as Vishkar attempted to woo new clients they naturally wanted to see what was possible with hard light.  She just happened to be the best. She hadn’t been happy about it in those parameters. She was even less thrilled with it now. Being put on display brought mixed feelings; she’d used to enjoy it in a way, but it seemed like it had become more complex somehow, for reasons she couldn’t explain… but it was in no way the time to be thinking about it.  She snapped back to reality.

She’d been pressing her fingers to her temples, something she only realized when her eyes snapped open and back to them, unaware even that her eyes had been closed in the first place.

Jamison’s eyebrow raised in a slow arch in a look.  It was something both thoughtful and intrigued and she decided immediately that she didn’t like it at all, let alone when it was directed toward her.  His voice moved over the words carefully, like he was stepping over cracks.

“... they got you playin’ show pony for the tall poppies, ey?”

The tone was different.  For a moment her mind began to consider it before she shoved it away.  Regardless, she didn’t like the attention it had earned her, and if she didn’t like it she most definitely didn’t want to linger on it.  Whatever he’d said, she wasn’t interested. If the glare didn’t do anything hopefully her tone did. It was pointed—as sharp as she could make it.

“I enjoy practicing my craft.  That’s something even someone like you should be able to understand.”

She raised an eyebrow with it imperiously but didn’t wait to see their reaction, or if there was one at all.  Rather she turned on her heel and immediately began her way down the hallway and away, opting for the nearest set of stairs to set them out of her sights as quickly as possible.  There was a significant beat of time before she heard him call after her, just before she reached the stairs.

“Thanks, love!”

She could only cringe.

Too much time elapsed from leaving the conversation with the two junkers to finishing her way down the hallway and descending the stairs.  It had felt as though she’d had the upper hand in leaving. Had she? Had she just agreed to something? Wait… was she helping them with theft, and a fairly major one at that?

She’d started off balance and then been so distracted by the mention of Vishkar and...

She started to very strongly doubt that she had come out victorious from their interaction at all and curled her hands into fists as she continued the steps downward.  They would take the jewels one way or another. And with the alarm in place and the heightened security measures she was certain they’d manage to get caught. Regardless, she was happy to leave all thoughts of them behind as she reached the lobby and stood straighter, took a deep breath, and barely had time to release it before Sanjay turned his head toward her and addressed her with the usual, muted enthusiasm so familiar in matters of business.

“Satya!  How convenient of you to come in now… we were just hoping you could show Miss Jie some of the more creative uses of hard light that you’ve developed.”

Satya tried a smile.  She wasn’t certain how well it worked.

 

* * *

 

Gods knew what they were up to while she was demonstrating the defense system, but by the time the alarm went off the junkers had gathered just about everything shiny in the building.  She knew because she’d ended up in a car with them. Again. Mako driving, Jamison in the front seat, and a rapidly-scattering pile of glittering gems beside her. She considered throwing the gems out of the vehicle in spite.  She considered throwing _herself_ out.  She’d even attempted to gauge the speed at which they were moving.  The main hitch in that particular plan was that both her hands and feet were bound and she had little choice but to take in what she could of the ride.

Jamison had been chattering animatedly to Mako, but upon even her recognition of it she heard the low reverberation of Mako’s voice—too muffled by the sound of the air moving past them to understand—and a slight tilt of his head back toward her.  She hadn’t heard the words but it took very little to know that whatever he had said couldn’t favor for her and it had stopped Jamison in his tracks. The man’s lanky body abruptly developed a different posture and came to a sudden stop, his arms pulled inward slowly, his hands curled in fists near his chest.  

That—the seemingly legitimate cowing, the frown, the expression of faint apprehension—was new.  As was the anxious gaze he cast toward her, his eyes skittering back away when she returned it with cold impassivity.  He allowed it only a moment before his body lowered, his shoulders visible as he searched for something, and then he drew himself upward once more, immediately turning in the seat to look at her.  He had a strip of fabric in his hands—a bandana, it seemed, of dubious cleanliness she was sure—and he appeared intent on tying it over her eyes.

There was little point in anything aside from staring pure rage into his eyes and it might have been her best choice; he flinched back, lips pulled backward in a contrite grimace even as he reached out with the bandana in hand.

“Sorry, love.  Can’t be givin’ out all our secrets, can we?”

He had cocked his head to the side as he spoke, and a gold tooth glittering in the cringing smile was the last thing she saw before the light was snuffed out.

 

* * *

 

 

At least they had untied her feet.

Most of her sense of things had only been sound, but she noticed the rope at her ankles being cut and knew, somehow, that it was Jamison who did it.  The temptation was there to kick as soon as she was free but it seemed like it would do little good. She’d wait for another opportunity. Regardless, being able to keep some dignity while being ushered blindfolded into some unknown location was one of the few scraps she had managed to grasp since she’d been tied up in the first place.  She was sadly, intimately aware of how unpleant it was to be foisted over the shoulder of Mako; this time had been no different.

The bandana came off soon after the abrupt halt of a grinding, unpleasant sound behind her and she was back to the light with mixed feelings, not sure if she was better or worse off.  At the very least she could examine the room.

It was a strange place.  Small and cramped and poorly-lit with piles of money and what looked like priceless treasures gathered into haphazard, second-thought piles.  She wasn’t sure who was responsible for their archiving system, but she could guess. She didn’t have much time to study them further before Mako was ushering her to an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair, ragged and half-broken and held together by scraps just like all of the items seemed to be, all surrounded by piles of glittering riches.

She had been correct with her assessment.  The chair was uncomfortable.

If there had been any intention to tie her to it nothing came of it; she liked to think that any thought of it might have been staved off in part due to the daring stare she gave both of them as she settled into her spot.  It left only her hands tied close together, tight enough to prevent her from any use of the gauntlet. It was a shame they knew to do that much.

Since arriving—or perhaps even as early as in the ride in the car—the mood had changed entirely.  It was certainly nothing like the last time in the diner. Mako was ever-silent and impossible to read as seemed to be typical, but Jamison…

He had seated himself at a makeshift workbench, tinkering with small metal parts pulled from similarly disorganized piles, and while she was fairly certain he was making something she wasn’t certain what it was.  And wasn’t sure if he was, either. His body had begun to curl slow and gradual in the silence, stooped under what she liked to think was the weight she was attempting to will into the small space, and decided to assume she was right regardless.

She felt comfortable to watch him in the dead quiet of the place in the hope that it might make it even more oppressive.  The only sound was the quiet intake and exhalation of Mako’s breath through the mask.

From her position she could see the way that Jamison’s brow had developed a deep furrow and when he cleared his throat to speak she took advantage of the break in the silence before he could.

“It is absolutely unacceptable that you keep me restrained.  I can’t even believe you took me with you.” It was a lie. She could.  Or at least, now that it had happened she wasn’t very surprised. But it didn’t mean she couldn’t drive the point home.  “You explicitly said I would _not_ be coming with you.”

“Technically—”  The word came automatically and he uttered it with a glance at her before his jaw immediately snapped shut over the last syllable as if he were trying to keep it restrained, having thought better of it.  The long moment of hesitation offered hints that he was about to continue despite his clear better judgment. Perhaps from being pent up, the remainder of it came spilling out rapidly, as if if it was said quickly enough she might not even hear it.

“I mean I only said we weren’t gonna be doin’ the plan which didn’t include nickin’ you anyway…”

With the words gone he took a deep breath and returned to silence.  There was a long moment in which she simply watched him; he returned the stare only briefly before his gaze retreated, forehead still etched with deep, thoughtful lines.  It wasn’t long until he carefully turned his head and pointed the look directly toward Mako.

The large man had seated himself in the opposite direction of the room and as Jamison looked at him a low, irritated rumble escaped from his mask followed by deep, rasping words.

“Bad idea.”

Jamison whined, looking at the large man and gesturing toward her.  “But she’s—”

“No.”

The smaller junker’s eyes flitted between the two of them before settling on Mako once again.  His posture had changed—slightly lowered, bargaining, just as he had done with her in a way that she briefly wondered if he even was aware of—as he looked up at the large man, still stooped.  It seemed to hold more feeling than when he had applied it to her.

“Just for a minute, yeah?  Give her a break?”

It seemed an opportune time to offer her own input.

“This was supposed to be a half hour.  Maximum.” Her jaw hardened as she went on, remembering more clearly as she said it.  “After it was supposed to be ‘a few minutes’.” An eyebrow raised with it as she went on.  “After it was supposed to be not even going with you at all.” She fixed Jamison with a cold, falsely-appraising look that said fully well that he was not getting top grades.  “You have an increasingly terrible habit of underestimation.”

Jamison cringed.  His voice was lower and quiet enough he may not have wanted her to hear as he spoke to Mako.  “C’mon, mate. It ain’t right.”

The massive man uttered a longer, lower sound that seemed more forgiving nonetheless.  Jamison continued.

“Like I said, just for a few minutes, ey?”

Mako stared at her from behind the mask.  Soon enough there was a deep and rumbling sigh, clearly put upon.

“You get to watch her.”  

Without anything further he stood, adjusting his weight and giving her one more long look before turning and lumbering out.  She wasn’t sure how far. It was best not to assume it was any significant distance.

A huff of air from Jamison took her attention back to him, and while it was hard to tell the exact nature of it she would feel confident in guessing it might be irritability.  He watched the larger man move off, waited until he was out of sight (craning his neck to be sure) and then hurriedly and most definitely nervously abandoned the workbench to dart over to her, teeth on his lower lip as he worked to undo the knot and his features expressing deep concentration.

She observed him closely as he was busy; there was nothing wrong with taking advantage of the opportunities as they came along.  He was smiling in turns as he prattled on, which seemed odd enough given the situation.

“Don’t worry about him.  Hog’s just always sayin’ things like, ‘Fawkes, you don’t know what you’re doing’, ‘Fawkes, pay attention’, ‘Fawkes, that’s about to blow up’.”  He seemed oddly cheerful in repeating it as he untied the bindings on her wrists.

Her stare was largely unfeeling and perhaps by some subconscious sense he seemed to notice.  The cheer dissipated and was quickly replaced by something else as he backed away, muttering.

“Sorry ‘bout the rope.  Didn’t feel right usin’ it in the first place.”  He fixed her with a misplaced look of displeasure, like he was about to say something further but he closed his mouth instead.

At the very least she was free.  She stood up immediately and brushed herself off, briskly and clearly with temper.  He’d taken a step back, seemingly surprised and giving her space, not having expected her to stand, maybe, or at least so quickly.

“You feelin’ alright?  Can I get you anything?”

“Can you let me _leave_?”

“Er…”  He didn’t seem to know what to do with it.  Watching him struggle for balance was gratifying, however briefly it lasted.  “No?”

Her eyes fixed on him in a stubborn stare and he tried again, more quietly.

“There’s probably still cops sniffin’ around…”

“Then I’m fine, thank you.”

It was strange to be arguing with a captor about her own freedom, but the complete lack of certainty in his voice was a surprisingly effective salve.

“… alright.”

They stood there awkwardly, staring at each other.  Despite the technicalities of their scenario there was no question as to who would break first, and soon enough Jamison stepped to the side so that she could move by.

“You mind sittin’ over here?”  He fixed her with a raised eyebrow, examining her with a quick look up and down her body, and she might be offended if it wasn’t clearly borne out of suspicion—suspicion, she supposed,  that she might be hiding something more easily used as a weapon. “Hog said I oughta keep an eye on you.”

“Do the both of you think I’m such a threat?”

His response came as a murmur; he was acting so _small_.  

“You can do a lotta stuff with that arm of yours.  Hopin’ I can trust you not to try anything.” There was a pause before he rolled his shoulders over some more idle thought.  “Plus, there’s a lot of real heavy stuff that wouldn’t feel too good on the back of me ‘ead.”

“You think I would assault you?”  It was a question that could be taken lightly.  If her voice wasn’t something meant to convince otherwise.

Still, it didn’t have much effect.  He replied with a small snicker, perhaps forgetting both himself and the person he was speaking to, to whom only moments earlier he had been giving a wide berth.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.  A lotta plans have gone wrong that way.”  He shrugged carelessly, lips pulled back in a crooked grin, and she wasn’t certain if what he was saying was true or not.  “People seem to’ve developed a taste for it”

She could puzzle over it, if she so liked.  Instead she moved over where he’d indicated and sat down.  If anything the stool was less comfortable than the chair had been and he followed after, hesitantly, keeping his distance despite the oddly friendly words.

“You sure you don’t want anything?”

“No.”

“Mm.  A’right.”

She looked down at the bench, scattered with scrap, wires, and conduits.  In the middle of the it was whatever he had been working so idly on. It looked like a miniature trap, surprisingly small, and she briefly wondered if it was a functioning thing.  She didn’t have time to examine it.

Jamison swept most everything near the front of the workbench carelessly to the side as he shuffled the wire and conduit into the center with the clear intent to work with them instead; she raised an eyebrow as he took a seat, hesitated for only a moment with a glance toward her, and then began his work, whatever it might be.  She had little else to do but watch him unless she wanted to do something risky, and truth be told she would rather just ride out the rest of the experience smoothly so that she could go home with the least amount of stress. After all, she didn’t even know where she was. None of it meant that she had to be nice.

That same, absolute quiet descended on the room for a long bit as he worked carefully, more deftly than she would have imagined, the tip of his tongue visible between his lips from the effort of concentration and only the occasional, gentle hiss of the sautering iron as a soundtrack.

She wasn’t certain if his voice came from the lack of sound, built up like lava from beneath the surface, or if it was simply some new thought that plucked itself opportunistically from his mind as it floated by.  Regardless, it came out of nowhere.

“Read you’re the top Architech over there.  The ‘jewel of Vishkar’ or somethin’.” It was amazing, in a way, how immediately his tone was back to what seemed like a typical chattiness.  It was also suspect in the prior overwhelming quiet of the room. “Don’t remember how they said it.”

“Ah, so you can read.”

The words escaped her so quickly and casually, and oddly she herself hadn’t been prepared for them.  In the beat of silence that followed she attempted to understand where they had come from; they were far, far more cruel than she had intended any response to be and as a result a feeling of regret welled up instantly inside her, not helped by the way his eyes had slowly begun to go wide and his hands had halted their work entirely.

Perhaps it was reflexive, but she met the regret with an indignant anger, wondering why she should feel regretful at all.  She gave a stubborn effort to dispel it but it had no effect and the residual feeling in her stomach was a mess of confusion and frustration.

But the room had returned to instant silence and remained that way, and if one thing was unbearable it was remaining in that terrible limbo with her own suddenly-disagreeable emotions.  She attempted some form of recovery, closing her eyes for a moment as she tried to think of an appropriate explanation. Everything going into the equation was muddled enough; there should have been no surprise that what resulted from it was a disaster.

“I had assumed with all of the people hitting you on the head...”

Oh, gods.  That was _far_ worse, and not at all what she had intended to say.

Her hands curled tightly into one-another on her lap as she pressed her feet as hard against the ground as it would allow in an attempt to not only keep herself still, but to keep her mouth shut lest something somehow worse escape it.

She had only intended to _slightly_ injure him.  And the particular topic and phrasing... well.

A deep crease had developed on Jamison’s brow with the words, his eyebrows knitted tightly inward over still-wide eyes that somehow looked bright even in the dim light, still pointed downward resolutely at the circuit board in front of him.  His lips were pressed in a thin line that held itself uncompromisingly straight and he didn’t seem to blink for the entirety of the pause.

It was a striking change.  The chattiness was entirely gone.  It certainly didn’t help distract her from her own thoughts.  He blinked, lifted his eyes, and adopted a blank forward stare for some moments before snapping out of the spell just as abruptly as he’d fallen into it and his eyes dropped back down to the workbench as his prosthetic hand twitched before the pair of them went back to work.

She didn’t trust herself to say anything at all and, preferring not to have to see his face, she turned her eyes elsewhere.  It was a surprise when, after only a brief rest, he went back to rattling on as if she hadn’t offered the insult at all. Were it not for the change in his tone she might wonder if he actually had forgotten her comments.  Unfortunately she was absolutely certain that wasn’t the case.

“Anyway, I reckon’ that‘s really gotta be somethin’.”  

A certain awe showed through even under the heavy veil of lightheartedness.  Holding tight to the carefree tone seemed to help; as he went on it began to seem more natural and it made it easier to hear in his voice that he was quite impressed.

“Bein’ able to make just about anything you want.  Probably took a long time to learn.”

Satya was sure to be cautious when she spoke.  However simple they might be, the words came slowly.

“It did.”  

She looked at him closely for a moment, searching.  His emotion seemed to be genuine. Her words were a bit distracted as a result.  She risked adding a slight air of a threat to it, as if feeling she needed to remind him of her competence.  

“Less so for me than others.”  

That at least didn’t go over so poorly, apparently hadn’t been as terribly misjudged.  She took a moment to glance around the room. It was a good excuse not to look at him and regret what she had said, a thought that still seemed ridiculous. She was interrupted again by his voice.

“What do you make for ‘em?  Not just buildings… I reckon it’s more impressive stuff, and heaps of it.”

“It’s certainly more than actual architecture, at least.”  

It was a common misconception, no doubt borne with the term ‘architech’, but then, Vishkar kept its secrets all the same.  She thought for a moment, considering how to continue her response. A lofted eyebrow went with a close examination of him—he seemed largely recovered, and it didn’t hurt that the topic of things close to her heart was already soothing her nerves, and perhaps loosening her tongue.

“Weapons, for example, from thin air.  Most anything an imagination can create.”  

He’d lifted his head to look at her, chin head tipped inquisitively to the side.  Neither seemed to phase him terribly much. She tried another.

“Teleporters, also.”

The pique of his interest was obvious in the wider stare that captured light in his eyes.  His high-arched brows brought that expression of awe back into him which, while she was certain was not at all intended, was surprisingly gratifying.  

“So you could just… jump into someplace?”  

She replied with the same mildly-arched brow.  “Or out.”

Her intended moment to let the words sink in lasted far shorter than she had expected.  He was struck with a sudden, stuttering laugh that pitched upward from his prior tone and painted an immediate and clear picture of both nervousness and contrition.  From the corner of her eye she could see his fingers twitch as if he were putting effort in in keeping them still. The upward quirk of his lips was similarly uncertain and his head tipped at a slight angle with it as if the grin itself were weighing it down as he responded.

“I’d appreciate if ya didn’t, just for now.”  His taut jaw made his expression look strained, although she would have to give him credit for the attempt to control it in full.  “Consider it a personal favor?”

His response, at least, seemed anxious enough to please her, or make her feel more in control of the situation.

He didn’t need to know that she wouldn’t be able to do it through solid walls, without any sight of her goal.  He didn’t need to know anything about her, actually. The idea that she had bothered sharing anything of herself—or _Vishkar_ —was suddenly disconcerting and she briefly felt a flash of indignance at herself as she realized her anger toward him, oddly, was waning.  It was slowly being replaced by a messy mix of other things, most notably still the vague regret that she shook herself of insistently. It would be better to talk of other things.  Her look around was an excuse to let the topic die.

“I doubt I would be able to do so too quickly for you not to notice, at any rate.”

Her words weren’t meant to be encouraging, nor was it at all true and that, at least, let her feel far more certainly that she had yet another leg up on him.  So to speak. Luckily her tone likely made sure it didn’t sound like it was intended to be comforting and perhaps the distraction in it as she looked around the room made it all the more discomfiting.

When she glanced back to him she was met with his gaze, his brow furrowed, and upon her full attention he abruptly went back to the wires in his hands.  It didn’t seem like he was doing much with them.

There was silence once again, though this one strangely more full, not as heavy, as if the brief conversation had opened a well that was slowly filling with potential paths, questions, topics, drowning what had come before it.

She likely ought to have been take advantage of being in the lair.  Perhaps she might find something to give them away and hand the information over to Vishkar.  It would be nice, after all, to have them off the streets, or at least to be insured that they would be kept at a sufficient distance for the rest of her life.

Still, even though displaying curiosity felt wrong somehow there was little else to do, and she’d rather not wallow in her thoughts anyway, so even if her tone was grudging the words expressed interest all the same.

“What is this place, anyway?”

On her question he blinked himself from whatever stupor he’d been in and at her voice he immediately looked back to the wires in front of himself with a wide-eyed attention that seemed to be too exaggerated to be genuine.  Still, he did manage to find something to keep his hands occupied in working to instill order in some of the wires. The metal fingers were more capable than she would have thought. His tone was distracted, and she didn’t think from the task he was working on.

“Old warehouse.”

“And the police don’t search here?”

His hand took a bolt from the table and, without looking, he tossed the bit of metal toward the wall where it hit with a somewhat hollow ‘thud’ and rolled to the ground.

“Fake walls.  We got ‘em rigged up so they slide open.”  Expecting her next question, perhaps, he went on.  “Too many residual chemicals to make search dogs worth much.”

She preferred not to think too much on that detail.

She watched him more closely, looked him over while his attention was elsewhere.  The tattoo, the soot smudges, the long nose, the freckles on his shoulders. The actual, nearly unbelievable singes at the tips of his uneven hair.  The undoubtedly heavy and inefficient arm.

“And you put them in here?  And elsewhere?”

“Pretty simple setup.  You could probably do somethin’ better in half a second.”  His lips twitched upward at one corner and his brow furrowed gently as he was seemingly struck with some thought.  She realized that at some point since she’d mentioned her capabilities with the teleporter that he had slipped into more subdued expressions of himself and she couldn’t pinpoint when the tipping point had been, but she knew that it was a gradual decline and that she had somehow entirely failed to notice it.

And it was yet more strange that he was sharing the information in the first place and so easily, without any apparent reservations despite her behavior; despite her prior, clear disgust and her veiled threats and her not-at-all veiled insults.  Perhaps he truly did have no sense of self-preservation.

Still, for whatever reason she didn’t much like the change in him.  And the topic—despite him speaking so freely—didn’t seem to be helping much.  No. It seemed like it was something else.

She needed a distraction and only had to search for one briefly.  Her eyes dropped to diagrams in front of them. There were plans for things she couldn’t immediately identify; weapons of some sort, parts of what looked to potentially be vehicles, electronics she didn’t understand.  And of course various explosives components, some paired with what seemed to be chemistry diagrams. It didn’t take long for her to recognize some of the components on the diagrams to be splayed out carelessly and disorganized on the bench in front of her, scrap ready to be repurposed and incorporated into something new.

It wasn’t at all what she expected.  For the first time she truly examined the space.  Despite the fact that it _had_ to be somewhat temporary due to the nature of their… work… there were indeed parts everywhere and, more surprisingly, basic machinery and a makeshift lab.  She looked at his arm and leg just as briefly before choosing to abandon her interest in them in favor of his expression.

“So you make all of this?”

The smile that spread across his face was different than those before—more genuine somehow and proud, clearly, although still far more subdued than any she had ever seen on one of their ‘jobs’.

“Yup!  Nothin’ like a little bit of D-I-Y.”

She found herself suddenly dubious at the idea of it despite having no real reason for it.  

“Where do you get all of your materials?”

“Simple stuff.  Basic chemicals, basic scraps.  Just haveta know how to make the most of ‘em.”  His smile hadn’t waned and in fact had grown to a full-toothed grin so wide that it forced his eyes to narrow, pleased slits even while they held their focus on her.  

“You’d be surprised what you can make outta things other people think of as garbage.”  The words were paired with a small, self-pleased giggle. It was a drastic change from his brief interlude of relative dullness.  He seemed on his way to recovery, indeed.

She watched him more carefully as she replied, one eye narrowed as she slowed her voice to something more obviously searching.  

“I read that you used some very powerful explosives when you broke into the bank in Mexico.”  

It parallelled his statement of her.  A fact that was… unfortunate.

There was nearly no pause at all in their interaction, but in the short moment she had a flash of realization that she had made it patently clear that she had read through information on him, as well.  Maybe it was catharsis or closure or maybe it was simple curiosity. Maybe it was a way to pre-empt whatever the press might say, to prepare her for anything she might hear of it second-hand. But she had all the same and she would rather no one know much about it.

At least he didn’t seem to notice any significance and as she responded she released a calming breath.  He’d leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, raising an eyebrow in return with a small and unexpectedly sly grin.  It suggested a secret and all intents to keep it as such. That in itself seemed foreign in him.

“You just… made those?  Out of…” She looked around.  There seemed to be nothing special at all.  Parts of various things, yes. Small and seemingly insufficient workspaces.  The place was primarily bits and pieces and scraps shoved into corners with no sign of order anyway.  There was certainly nothing that gave any hint of being involved in something dramatically destructive, even if she knew he and his sidekick were capable of it otherwise.  

She finished the thought lamely.  “… I don’t even know what.”

He was remarkably pleased with himself if the giggle was anything to go by.  It was different than those before—not high-pitched with anxiety, not loud from mania—but something seemingly unlocked by the conversation itself.  He pulled his mechanical hand forward from where it supported the back of his head with its mate and lifted his finger in a quick but animated gesture toward her that was clearly meant to express both approval and craftiness.

“Told ya, love, I know what I’m doing.  You’d be surprised what you can do with stuff people have tossed.”  He was looking at her intently, bright-eyed and excited, as if he’d just been waiting for her to ask so that he could answer.  “Stuff everyone reckons they’ve just made disappear.” He splayed his hands in front of himself as if indicating a magic trick and a derisive snort chased after it just as quickly.  “Worthless junk, they call it.” It was accompanied by a pitying shake of his head. “Nothin’ but a lack of imagination.”

She’d been listening more closely than she realized.  Maybe it was the gestures and animation of it all, but it was hard not to once he started talking, and a rapid change came over him before she could even catch up.

His eyes shot wide at some thought and his jaw began to drop before he snapped it closed.  His hands quickly took over and splayed out toward her in a wide gesture paired with a beaming grin.

“Kinda like what you do with that arm of yours!  Make stuff outta thin air.”

Pleased that he’d made his point and pleased with himself for making the connection as well, the grin softened to something smaller, although still wide enough to show a gold tooth.

“I mean kinda similar, I reckon.  If you think about it.”

She stared back, blinking, still feeling slow.  She would rather not consider it, particularly while he was still staring at her in a way that seemed not expectant, exactly, but certainly thoughtful.  It was a bit confusing that he’d want to be associated with her, actually, considering how many of their interactions had gone. As for her being associated with _him_ , well… her brow furrowed at the thought and she shook her head to clear it, saying whatever might make it go away.

“I suppose, perhaps.”

She decided she’d rather leave the thought behind; it wasn’t worth pursuing anyway and attempted to pivot the topic with a suggestion of her own.  She fixed him with a raised eyebrow, watching him, trying to dredge up what few things she knew. She decided to start with the most obvious.

“You’re from Australia?”

At least her abandonment of the prior topic didn’t seem to have phased him.

He lofted an eyebrow in return and lowered his head to point to her in one way or another, correcting.  “Junkertown. There’s a world ‘a difference between Junkertown and the rest of ‘Straya.”

“Right.”  It hadn’t really seemed worth distinguishing but she made a point of it to herself and recalibrated.  “The omnium was destroyed there, correct?”

“That’s it.  Went up in the big one.”  He lifted his hands upward to mimic an explosion, lips pursing express a quiet ‘boom’.  “Can’t say I’m too upset about it, but the whole irradiated wasteland thing could’ve been done without.”  The words were followed with a snicker that briefly curled his body in a strange sort of amusement.

“I suppose it doesn’t sound particularly enjoyable.”  

A shrug rolled over his shoulders.  “It’s home, anyway.” A pause followed it; she had run out of things to safely say on the topic, true, but moreso she was driven to silence by the thoughtful, quiet way he was looking at her.  It was hard to say if his voice matched it. It came out sounding slightly hesitant.

“Where’s yours?”

She took a breath, folding her hands in her lap.  “Hyderabad. Initially, at least. My Vishkar work is centered in Bangladesh, but it tends to take me to places across the globe.”  A thought came to her and she turned her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she watched him from their corners. There was still hesitation there, strangely.  Still uncertainty if it was wise to say. It came anyway. “... as you seem to well know.”

He responded with a swallow that bobbed his adams apple and a quiet clearing of his throat.  It was all mild, not terribly apologetic guilt in the form of a faint smile.

If she were being honest with herself she wasn’t entirely sure why she was talking to him at all.  Maybe it was just for something to do. Maybe it had started as intel gathering and become a habit.  He was curious, though. His mannerisms, his skills. The way he talked to her. Or maybe it was mostly from guilt.  Any further thought on it was interrupted by the arrival of Mako.

The large man was back with something in his hands: a teapot and a single cup.  She blinked, startled as he very carefully placed it in front of her on the edge of the workbench, oddly delicately with big hands.  It took only a brief moment for her to realize it was chai. Not only was it chai, but she wondered if they’d gotten it singuarly for her… if not for the single cup, then for the selection.  It made her wonder if the ‘plan’ had truly never been meant to include taking her to the safehouse with them, or perhaps if it had been some backup, some forethought she’d rather not consider.

Regardless, its arrival brought a beaming smile from Jamison.  “Thanks, mate.”

Mako nodded.  She believed he was looking at her for a moment longer, examining her, but she pushed away the discomfort and looked directly back without hesitance, without aggression—a look that was challenging but similarly searching.  His head tipped to the side, topknot bobbing, and after a moment he simply turned and left.

If before she had felt at all threatened by the large man’s behavior, or had felt as if he truly wanted to keep her bound and securely captive, she had begun to doubt both assessments with the simple gesture.

She looked at the tea.  Despite her slight confusion and suspicion of it eventually she took a drink.  It was warm. Comforting and well-mixed with a slight amount of cream. She raised her eyes to give the space another look of consideration.  In reality it wasn’t so terrible, although the raggedness of much of it was unfortunate. There was a certain charm to the light bulbs bare on strings wound over the metal supports above the room, or perhaps that detail was familiarity.  Memories of good things, however downtrodden. Regardless, it lent it a warm glow. Or maybe it was the drink her hands.

No.  They had most definitely purchased the tea solely for her.  That in itself was a striking and uncomfortable surprise and she was trying to assess any possible meanings of it when he spoke with the same, slight hesitance.

“So why do you work for Vishkar, anyway?”

There was little reason to give the question much urgency and she focused on her tea instead, taking a slow sip of it before replying just as idly.

“What do you mean?”

“Just…. they ain’t exactly on the level.”

It goaded her from her distraction.  Whatever relaxation the tea had allowed her to slip into had begun to drift as quickly in her surprise at receiving it.  

“... excuse me?”

He clearly noticed.  His eyes shot wider for a moment before flitting uncertainly away to his work, then back to her from their corners.

“I just mean, er…”  He abandoned the words briefly for thinking, his eyes at the bench, one narrowed in an effort to find the right thing to say.  “Well after what happened in Rio, for example…”

Satya didn’t even need to put the words together; they were already there.  She’d said them and felt them enough times and they came more quickly than she even need think of.

“That was an accident.  How were we supposed to be aware of _illegal_ —”  She emphasized the word heavily.  “—gas lines? Had we known we would have been more cautious.”  The tea remained partially lifted even as she huffed an indignant breath that was not quite too far gone to be saved, and she tried to keep the words firm, not only for the sake of responding to him.  “That’s why there are regulations that must be followed.”

The silence was full as before and it seemed for a moment as if he was trying to not say anything more.  As if he were trying to tamp down the words building up behind his teeth. It didn’t work.

“... seems pretty convenient the place burned to the ground what with the whole...”

He had found a sore spot and she disliked just how much discomfort the pressure on it caused.  Maybe there was something in her expression that caused him to hesitate.

He cleared his throat, finally reconsidering.  “I’m just sayin’.”

“Implying.”

It was clear he was even more uncomfortable; his teeth gritted with her response as if he was once again fighting to keep himself quiet but her insistence in disagreeing seemed to win out as he answered with a strange and hesitant rise of an eyebrow.

“They just got a habit of mixin’ themselves up in some shady business is all.”  His voice lowered ever-so-slightly and became something closer to a mumble as if, somehow, the lower volume might make it more palatable to her.  “‘sides, it seemed like you might not be the biggest fan of the job, yourself.”

If he was making himself smaller she was filling the room, and she’d gathered herself by the time he replied and raised an eyebrow above a firm and unbudging stare.  She’d entirely forgotten her commentary, her behavior, the thoughtful look he’d placed on her. It was a small thing, an inconsequential thing for her to do for the company, and who wouldn’t make miniscule sacrifices for their dream positions?  She wasn’t about to let him misconstrue it. A stark clarification was in order.

“My life’s work is at Vishkar.”  Unsatisfied, she pressed a hot breath of air out through her nose, her nostrils subtly flaring, intent on coming back for more with a growing impatience in her tone.  It was clear from every bit of her that she intended to fire directly back. “And it’s interesting that you call Vishkar ‘shady’ when you steal everything you lay eyes on.”   

“Look, that’s…”  His lips pursed in a frown, his brow furrowed, and he did his best to respond but his tone was unsettled.  “That’s a complicated story.”

“Mm.  And I’m certain you consider my employer to be much more simple.”

Jamison turned his eyes away in a way that seemed more resolute as he backstepped, something suggested even more as he sat back slightly on his seat and raised his arms in a gesture of defense before quickly abandoning it lest it be seen as an exaggeration .  

“Ah, nevermind.“  There was defeat in his voice and he kept his head down, his brow furrowed over work she was certain his mind wasn’t fully on.  “Shouldn’t’ve said anything.”

Her chest burned with a surprisingly intense indignance but there was confusion there as well; confusion of _exactly_ what he meant.  She was getting nothing from his expression; it had become completely closed off.  

But she knew Vishkar wasn’t any form of...   _unscrupulous_ , particularly when the opinion was coming from someone like the criminal sitting just in front of her.   _He_ had kidnapped _her_ after all, two times over.  And although she wanted him to try to defend himself she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of asking again. Her reflexes pushed back, her mind unable to leave well enough alone, and while she might not get a satisfactory answer from him she would be happy to try to get the last word.

“I work for Vishkar.”  She paused and considered the word before saying it, and went on as it was approved.  “Happily. So I suppose that applies to me, as well.”

He wouldn’t look up at her, opting instead to keep his head down and his hands idly twisting at wires in movements that clearly had no practical purpose.  She noted the way his lips pressed hard together in displeasure, but it didn’t seem as though it were at her. It was dismay, and that at least was an entirely new surprise.  If his expression and the curve of his back didn’t say it, the quiet, low tone of his voice did.

“I didn’t mean anythin’ by it, alright?  Can we just forget I said it?”

She wasn’t interested in letting anything slip away, particularly when she seemed to have him on the spot.  It didn’t seem like quite enough; she did not want to give him any room to dodge the question by being ambiguous.  But requesting an answer again seemed like giving him something she didn’t want to and so she fixed him with an expectant stare instead.  Against all odds it still did the trick.

He finally lifted his head—however hesitantly—and looked to her full on, his brow still furrowed.  He clearly didn’t like being addressed so straightforwardly. His voice was still quiet and the words came from him in a low mumble which, for whatever reason, made them seem more genuine for it, however hesitant it might have sounded..

“No.  It doesn’t.”  His eyes flitted away and then back to her, pausing for a moment as if to examine her.  “I dunno.” She didn’t expect it given his tone and the undefinable expression on his face but he held her gaze with his own.  “I don’t think so, anyway.”

They stared at each other for a moment, him with an uncharacteristic frown and herself both intense and intent as she attempted to have out whatever he wasn’t saying, if anything.

It was interrupted as he forced a weak quirk of his lips in what was clearly an attempt at a smile and abruptly dropped the superfluous wires in his hands, moving to get to his feet and brushing his hands off on his shorts.

There was a brief show of listening to the scanner—nothing more than clicking the thing on, waiting for a few seconds, and then turning it back off—and it seemed even more perfunctory given that he had already stood and was speaking almost before he’d finished the motion at all.

“I reckon it’s time we let you go.”

Everything had changed so quickly in the last half-minute that she blinked, shaking her head as she tried to keep up.  She kept the faint exclamation of surprise to herself somehow and was grateful for it.

He had already begun to move away from the bench and was gathering things in a way that seemed more purposeful before.  She felt very suddenly like she was being dismissed, rudely so, and it left her wordless as he went on without any sign of hesitation.

“Don’t worry about us nickin’ you again.  Shouldn’t have done it in the first place.  Guess I got a little carried away.”

She’d begun standing cautiously, as though doing so might bring about another drastic change of some sort that would leave her no less confused or taken off guard.

“Roadie always does say I don’t think things through.”

He had added a few more parts to the workbench but shoved a few out of the way as well, and somehow as he chatted she had failed to notice him picking up a pair of welding goggles and strapping them to his head, parting his hair on either side of them and leaving it looking entirely uncontrolled.  She didn’t have much time to take it in.

“Plannin’ on leavin’ town anyway, soon as I get one or two things done.”

That held some something strange in it.  The words, true, but the tone moreso. It was so dramatically different from anything he’d ever used in her presence that she immediately thought she knew what it was… disappointment, of one form or another.  

It was a tone that made no sense, not given who the both of them were, but there was no time to linger on it.  He held out his hand suddenly. Remarkably awkwardly. And he stood there looking at it as if it had happened without his permission and he didn’t even know why he’d done it.

It took a moment but she curiously, cautiously took it for an uneasy shake.  It felt like an abrupt and strange ending to some transaction that itself was one of the strangest she’d ever taken part in.  Or rather, been dragged into. Even with the abruptness and the confusion of everything, she could at least be assured that that her experience with the junkers was going to be solidly in the past.

“Alright, then.  Good.” She knew her tone had to give away some of her lack of balance.  Her mind suggested ‘thank you’ but she shoved the impulse away without even knowing what had caused it in the first place.  Reflex, most likely. He let go of her hand.

“Roadie!”

The other man responded with a low grumble from some other part of the space.

“You mind takin’ her home?”

Mako popped his head in, looked at her, stood up straight in the doorway and nodded, waving a hand toward the entrance to indicate she should go with.

Satya cast a glance behind her as she followed after Mako.  Jamison had already sat—hunched over his work, this time with goggles lowered and sprays of spark coming from whatever he was welding in front of himself, his shoulders bathed in light and his back in shadow.

Her brow furrowed and she turned around, feeling strangely mixed about the nature of the departure as she followed the large man out.  She could feel the stubbornness that could be easily explained by their conversation, and perhaps affrontation. There were questions she hadn’t gotten satisfactory answers to and she felt oddly confused by the sudden dismissal.  It was a feeling as if something was being left incomplete and she didn’t know why. Perhaps that’s why she spoke. The words felt strangely free, as if speaking to the large man was the most familiar thing in the world.

“Mako?”

He glanced over his shoulder with a questioning grunt.  Her brow was still furrowed in confusion as she met the gaze of his mask.

“It was nice to meet you.”

He stopped and tipped his head to the side in question and she thought, in his pause, that she might have spread her own confusion to him.  After a moment he lowered a large hand, much like Jamison had, and she took it for a shake that was astoundingly gentle. It did absolutely nothing to clear her mind, particularly as he stepped to the side to allow her to go first.  She reached the passenger side of the car and slipped in, closing the door slowly behind her. Mako walked to the front of the vehicle, gave the wall two hard knocks, and made his way to the car as a false door slid open. It was dark and empty in the space in front of them and she turned to look over her shoulder for any sign of the faint light still flickering inside the wooden walls of the hideout but saw only dull streams of it casting themselves in weak rays across the floor that disappeared entirely as the door slid shut.

Mako settled in the car and it tipped toward him before it stabilized itself, just as it had before.  He took hold of the controls and she turned back to the front and the shadows lurking on either side in the weakness of the dimmed headlights as the car jerked forward and sped them off into the night.


	3. Johannesburg: Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I might want to split up larger chapters for easier consumption, so I'm going to try to do that from here on--provided, of course, that there's a natural stopping point. If people would rather have longer chapters let me know, I think they're usually gonna be about 2x the size of this (15k characters or so).

There was, of course, another debriefing—this time with nearly the complete company board.  It was worse than the previous one, however much she was told her superiors and peers were only there to be supportive. It was stifling.  Perhaps she ought to have been anxious in some way, but without having done anything wrong she could find no reason to be. But the questioning happened all the same.

“Miss Vaswani.  We’re so glad to have you back.  Are you doing well?”

Satya took a slow, deep breath as she looked at Ms. Laghari, seated at the opposite side of the table.  She had been fortunate in the first round of questioning not to have the company president involved; while Satya didn’t find her intimidating, it was nonetheless unpleasant to have to interact with her when others were involved, particularly when her only prior experience with the woman had been brief but full of praise.  The rest of them seemed to all change in her presence, bending where she knew them to stay firm in other scenarios. Although some less so than others. Satya cast a glance toward Sanjay before returning her attention to Laghari.

“Yes, thank you.”

“I’m sorry that we have to do this once again.”

Satya released the breath she’d taken in as a sigh.  “I understand entirely. Please ask whatever you need.”

“If you don’t mind us asking, did you happen to gain any information while you were captive?  Active locations, ammunition sources, or similar?”

Suddenly Satya was drawing a complete blank and she realized in honesty she didn’t actually know.  Or rather, she did know some scraps of what they wanted but couldn’t conjure a single one upon being so immediately asked, which was strange—she had even had the thought of intel gathering while she was with them in the safehouse.  For a moment It likely showed in her vacant expression as she attempted to gather what she could from her memory. Most of it, frustratingly, focused unhelpfully on the more emotional aspects of it— the vague sense of rejection and the indignance that came with it first and foremost.

“Satya?”

She shook herself back to the present and it took a moment for her to fully settle her thoughts.  “Yes, I’m sorry. I was thinking.”

It wasn’t only Laghari who held a questioning expression and Satya quickly recalled what she was doing.  Her tongue found the first thing that came to her mind.

“So far as I can tell whatever they make is entirely from discarded materials.”

“Mm.  We assumed as much.”

It didn’t seem to have pleased any of them, but it didn’t seem to have explicitly displeased them either.  Perhaps they assumed from her long pause that it was all she had to offer, as they moved briskly on before Satya could offer anything additional.  She could have. True, it was difficult to find the presence of mind to offer anything immediately, but it wasn’t as though she couldn’t have interjected.  If that were any part of a plan it was quashed by what followed.

A man she’d never spoken to asked the next question, unsubtle, blunt, but still veiled enough in meaning that she could only feel vague suspicion, unhelped by her general muddled concept of the whole thing.

“Do you think they’ve developed an interest in you?”

It didn’t come from Laghari, but from a board member she didn’t know.  There was obvious concern in his voice but… something stranger. But she couldn’t focus on anything beyond the memory of the strange handshakes, the look of uncertainty and… possibly even disappointment on Jamie’s face when they last spoke.  Recalling the memory expressed itself as a quiet, derisive snort, but still brought on mixed feelings, not the least of which being offense. She pushed those away and ironed it down to what needed to be said.

“I believe they’re very much done with me if our last interaction was any indication.”

And it was true.  They had said as much.  Well, Jamie had explicitly said as much, and it seemed very much like he meant it to the point where it may have mildly stung.

Perhaps it was the confidence in her voice but it was met with a brief moment of silence as the members of the board glanced between themselves with expressions too quick to read before all sat back in their seats, some nodding amongst themselves.  Whatever tension she and the topic had added to the room seemed to have immediately vanished.

“Good.  In that case thank you, Miss Vaswani, and we do apologize for your experiences.  You handled everything with the utmost professionalism.” Laghari smiled at her in that same crisp manner Sanjay had offered her at the gallery as she continued.  “If you need anything, or to speak to anyone about any of this, please follow up with Ms. Saanvi Nehru whenever necessary.”

“Thank you.”  It was easy for Satya to smile.  A weight had been slightly lifted and she took the reminder of her discontent with the entire situation and  shoved away forcefully. She wouldn’t allow any bit of it to bury itself as a seed and grow.  She chose to bury herself in her studies, instead.

It wasn’t as if the junkers went quiet.  Jamie and Mako were still occasionally on the news with one or two attempts at larger hauls, but much of it seemed simply to be enough to taunt the authorities: joy rides, petty theft, and general public mayhem.  She caught herself looking at the monitors during the news occasionally before realizing that they were on the screen and then abruptly moving her attention away to focus on other tasks, irritated with herself for wasting the seconds on it.

There were no more hostage situations, although she supposed there had typically been no need for one.  And while she focused her attention elsewhere, a keen mind for picking out patterns had no trouble seeing the similarities in their particular brand of stealing people, once one had some additional, more intimate information it became much easier.

In her idle times she attempted, half-consciously, to locate potential safehouses by their building districts and structure type.  If she was correct—and by combining the information she was fairly sure she was—she could come up with a likely list: the only hostages they had ever taken was when they were being chased by the authorities (although they didn’t always take a hostage while police were on their tails) _and_ when it was happening close to a safehouse (she supposed to shake them before returning to a lair).  They never seemed to use their bike… perhaps too obvious, perhaps stashed in a secondary location somewhere, perhaps simply too valuable sentimentally for damage or capture to be risked.  Or perhaps just too little space for a captive at all.

And, of course, there was the more recent pattern: the only hostage they had taken since their first interaction had been her.  It seemed they had never had a repeat ‘visitor’ before, let alone one _chosen_ in particular.  They had implied it was merely opportunistic of them to engage her ‘help’.  And then go along for the ride.

Despite herself, Satya couldn’t determine within a short period of time what the meaning it held or if it held one at all, and as a result it simply made her annoyed before moving on.  If she could have chosen the annoyances in her life it was uncertain if she would have chosen the act of being taken hostage or everything else that came with it. It was a shame how quickly she was given the opportunity to find out.

 

* * *

 

 

The emergency lights kicked on, bathing the hallway in a dull red light accompanied by a similar sound of the slow death of the ventilation systems before air once again began flowing overhead, louder for a moment as the system compensated, before a sense of normalcy returned.  A gentle white light returned to the hallway, dimmed and casting dimmer shadows but illuminating well enough all the same.

She had stopped in her tracks at it happened, her body paused in the middle of her surveillance route as she waited to see whatever additional information might come to explain the precise nature of the building’s system failures.  Listening provided her nothing; there were no alarms, no indication through the system that anything was wrong other than the loss of power. Whatever it was she assumed it was unrelated to her security detail; there had been nothing odd about the evening or about the other portions of her routes, and all in all the security measures for the museum had been going to procedure.

But of course, with the power loss came the contingencies, and it was a scenario that required action.  She raised her wrist to speak into her communicator to her unit leader. Naturally it was Sanjay. In addition to his seniority they worked well together, and it was suggested that as he was cool and calm in such situations he was the best choice—should they require a ‘clear head’.

“Sanjay?  Is there something going on?”

“Nothing requiring concern at the moment.  Please maintain your position and wait for an update.  Thank you for checking in, Satya.”

She lowered the communicator and let out a huff of air at the response.  She wasn’t entirely sure why Vishkar was branching out into security anyway, but had the half hearted hope that nothing turned out to be some sort of breach that would jeopardize any of it.  Oddly she found herself not much caring; to her it mostly felt like an unwelcome interruption—the job an interruption to her studies and the power hiccup an interruption to the evening. She’d chosen a more isolated section for a reason.

It was still somewhat eerie in the silent hallway, even as her eyes adjusted to the light and fully revealed the same safe, empty corners she had seen moments before.  And while the sound of the place had similarly returned to a vague mimicry of itself there was something else piercing through, slowly growing in volume and purposeful in its cadence.  It wasn’t an automated system; it was footsteps, she realized, moving quickly and moving toward her.

She understood what they were just as the alarm started blaring, the sound echoing around the corner behind her and piercing and sudden to the point where it ought to have drowned out her perception of anything else, particularly as she cringed against it and briefly covered her ears. But maybe it was some sixth sense that drove her apprehension or maybe it was simply the familiarity of the sound—one the set of characteristic, long strides with a _scuff-clack_ and the other pair a simple, even _thuds_ that went so far as to shake the floor.

If she hadn’t been completely frozen the sound finally set her in stone. The soundtrack that came with their appearance around the corner was pre-empted by heavy breaths and their forms skidded into view, rounding the corner a bit too wide.  If the cadence of the steps hadn’t felt familiar, the voice certainly did.

It was, of course, unmistakably Jamison Fawkes.

“Pardon me, m’lady, but I’m gonna have to take a minute of your time—”

The drawl was interrupted by the occasional quick breath as she turned toward them and stared, still unable to fully process the sight of him as he finally came more or less to a stop.  Predictably, the other junker was there with him. She didn’t have the time to shake off her shock to say anything but fortunately Jamie did the work for her in a genuinely bewildered tone.

“… you gotta be kiddin’ me…”  

He had stopped in his tracks and Mako had done the same, quickly enough just by luck not to bowl the smaller man over.  Jamie had clearly intended to take a step toward her before realizing who she was—peg leg shifted foward, body the same—but continued on with absolute puzzlement in his voice, sounding severely lost and confused.  

“What’re you doin’ here?”

Satya stared back, eyes wide, still struck by disbelief in seemingly equal in measure to his own.  For a moment the both of them simply stared before Mako nudged Jamie none-too-gently, jarring him back to attention, an attention that triggered the familiar look of annoyance over his shoulder but with too much shock in him to maintain it.

She didn’t say anything.  Couldn’t still, really. Finally he shook his head and blinked; his contribution was unhelpful, his expression a reflection of her disbelief.

“Uh.”  

It didn’t sound entirely like it was what he meant to say, and if the way he blinked at her was any indication, that assessment was likely right.  He tried again.

“... that a new look you Vishkar folks are wearin’?”

It was a high-tier event.  Formal. Vishkar agents, despite working, were naturally required to dress for the occasion, and she glanced down at her dress without so much as dipping her chin downward, as if doing so might give him the satisfaction of it.  It was not nearly as simple, she supposed, as was typical—there was thin lace, for one, joining the blue fabric on her shoulders to the gold bodice, the white cloth all trimmed with gold as it fell to an uneven trail of fabric behind her, lined inside in aqua green.

Had he not mentioned it she may have forgotten how much she had adored it on sight.

But both the tone and the words were odd, from him.  When she didn’t answer his eyes widened and his gaze darted away quickly as he seemed to finally gather himself with a touch of color to him, most notably at his cheeks.  He appeared to be checking the hallway, beginning first in her direction, and then around the corner to where they’d just come from. It was hard to tell where precisely her suspicion was growing from but his mannerisms hadn’t helped, and the sensation only strengthened when he released a nervous, twitching laugh and raised his hands apologetically as he looked back to her.

“Look, I’m real sorry about this—”

A slew of curses broke off his thought, the words flowing from her in a stream of native syllables.  It was so rare for her to curse and opening it was a valve, both offering relief and breathing life to the frustration behind it all the same to let briefly it flourish.  At some point her hands had curled into fists.

“You said you wouldn’t be following me anymore.”

“We weren’t here for you, darl’.  Swear it.” He had stood straight with a hard shake of his head as he curled his hand near his chest, the prosthetic fingers scratching at the nape of his neck as he made another, much more brisk look around.  “We’ll just… er…”

The utter ridiculousness of the statement did nothing to assuage her, particularly given that she’d heard it as a lie before.  She looked down the hallway as well, so far as she could. At the end of it near them she found what she needed; anger, frustration, or she wasn’t sure what drove her to a closet, and without thinking she was moving forward and shoving the both of them toward it with a firm, resolute look to her and an equally strong force against them that Jamie protested against.

“Christ, Satya… I told ya—”

She ignored the words entirely, looked back to the hallway, saw it empty, and slammed the door behind her.  She turned back to the now-cramped space nearly filled with their bodies and cleaning supplies with just enough room for each of them to move around a bit should they like to.  The light was dim, nothing but a dull red glow of the emergency lighting system—the closets apparently not warranting a full, white light.

Jamie’s hand were raised in front of himself in a gesture of defense and he was leaning slightly away.  Mako was behind him, utterly stoic and unmoving in every sense of the word. It was odd how different their paralyzation was: Jamie’s entirely appeasing and Mako’s something like appraisal and respect.  They were both absolutely silent as they watched her.

Her voice went quieter but absolutely concrete as she addressed the more talkative of the two.  “What are you doing here.” It was a question, somewhat, in the way that that there are questions that suggest there is no argument to be had nor any correct answer. “How do you keep finding me.”

“We didn’t!  We didn’t. Or at least we didn’t mean to.”

She pursed her lips together.  Her eyes narrowed and she raised her gauntlet in front of herself, palm up and a blue light forming above the disc of it.

Jamie’s eyes widened in a response that was satisfying.

“Christ!”  His body flinched away as he tripped on his tongue, briefly stuttering in his attempt to remember the correct words.  “We just came for the unveiling! That doovalackey… thingamabob. Picture!  Painting?  Y’know.”

His hands moved in senseless gestures as he tried to think of any further detail he could provide.  And then everything abruptly stopped: his movements, his apparent scrambling thoughts, and whatever panic she’d induced in him.  Instead his eyes narrowed and he looked at her with his brow furrowed and was suddenly accusatory, himself.

“Why are you here, anyway?”

They both of them seemed to be considerably confused and yet neither were entirely willing to back down—or at least, Satya had no intent of doing so, although her voice had dropped from openly aggressive to merely terse.

“I’m working security.”

“That a new thing Vishkar’s doin’?”

“Yes.”  The response was brisk and accusatory; she hadn’t forgotten his prior comments about her company.

But all of it had convinced her, at least, that he was telling the truth.  She lowered her hand and looked between the both of them as she conceded.

“Alright.  Fine.”

“Fine?”

Jamie’s response warranted a sigh, though not because of the word itself.  It seemed to request both an admission and apology, but she could only spare him one.

“I believe you.”  She lifted her hand to point at him, firmly and threatening.  “But you cannot have the painting.”

His features broke out in a broad grin and she thought she could hear an ever-so-slightly louder huff of air from Mako.  If nothing else the lanky man certainly did seem to recover quickly, and the thought struck her that she ought to find it annoying—particularly in regards to the topic of their discussion.  His statement came with a laugh that didn’t fit the words but rather seemed genuinely carefree.

“Oh, we gave up on that.”

It was surprising to hear, particularly after all of… _that_.  Whatever the past minutes had been.  She had to remind herself that it had been about more than security measures… a thing that was ridiculous enough in itself.

“What?”

“Yeah, somebody cut the power, people started chasin’ us.  Must’ve been your Vishkar friends. Wasn’t worth the trouble of trying to nick it.”  His fingers formed into fists once again and he curled them upward near his chest with another, gleeful-sounding laugh  “It was mostly for a lark, anyway.”

It clarified nothing and only left her more questions.  She considered radioing Sanjay, but for reasons she didn’t bother further investigating her mind pushed the thought away in favor of simply continuing, herself.

“You didn’t do it?  Cut the power?”

His laugh escaped through grinning teeth in a smile wide enough to showcase the same sharpened canines and the ridiculous gold tooth.  “Nah. Good idea, though. Deffo sent security scramblin’.” He spared a moment for a sidelong glance and cleared his throat. “No offense.”  But before she could offer anything he was moving on, quickly regaining whatever he’d lost in the seconds of diversion. “I reckon it’s something we should try sometime.”  He shot a brief look toward Mako who sighed, deeply. She’d practically forgotten the huge man was there.

It was all very strange and certainly made no sense.  The junkers were always trouble, and if there _was_ any trouble and they anywhere nearby it was _always_ them.

Her voice was quieter.  “Then what’s going on?”

It was enough to give them all pause to think, the three of them all ridiculously closed into a closet as they attempted to puzzle out what they could—Jamie squinting eyes upward with his hand curled around his chin, Mako’s head tipped to the side, and her brow furrowed as she looked at the two of them, still lost.

The silence that filled the momentary break had begun to change as something else began to seep in.  It was a sound and it approached much like their footsteps had—quieter at first as if in her subconscious and then coming into focus all at once, although this one was much harder for her to place.  It was a low, insistent and growing hum that far outweighed whatever the automated systems were capable of and her thoughts went outward to the junkers in hopes that she might see something in their expressions to help.

Mako’s chin had lift slightly upward.  Jamie seemed to notice it, too. His eyes raised, scanning the space above him as if he might be able to see anything beyond the closet ceiling.

The quiet of his voice was disconcerting.

“… uh-oh.”

“What?”

He squinted harder toward the ceiling without answering; she needed  response, and without him giving one she reached forward and shook him by the shoulders to get his attention.

“Jamie.  What?”

The shake, at least, had gotten his attention, and he shook himself as he looked at her wide-eyed.  “Well I dunno exactly, but it ain’t a _good_ sound…”

If frustration and alarm weren’t already creeping in they began to grasp her attention more insistently.  “What _is_ it?”

His eyes were wide and pointed toward her, her hands still on his shoulders as he tried again.  “Helo—er, chopper?” He cylcled rapidly through the words as if he couldn’t remember any official term.  Even without his help she realized it was a motor. An engine of some sort, and it was getting louder And his mind finally seized on something else something arguably more important, and it showed in his eyes; it was enough that she could ignore the sound, could ignore what he’d stated it was, and could ignore the apparent proximity.

“Doesn’t sound like the ones the cops fly, though. I reckon—”

She supposed he would be one to know, but she didn’t have the chance to ask him.

His words and her thoughts were vaporized as the building rocked.  It was an explosion, closeby, and while her body couldn’t logically assess, her instincts screamed that it was a large one.  One that signaled continued danger and as she placed her hands on the floor she realized just how strong it had been.

The three of them had been knocked about and both herself and Jamie were on the ground.  Mako had been thrown back against the back wall, sending cleaning supplies into chaos. The ringing in her ears made it all the more clear that they had escaped some attack she didn’t understand by the skin of their teeth, and as she started to push herself up even though the floor felt steady she could feel small shudders as unknown other parts of the building—farther away, though she had no idea how far—shifted with distant groans and cracks.

Her attention was on the sensation under feet as Jamie suddenly appeared in front of her, looking at her wide-eyed, his head tipped meaningfully to give the words more haste.  His voice struggled through the continued, high-pitched ring. He might have known that he needed to heighten the volume; perhaps he was experiencing the same thing.

“I think it’s time to go, love!”

It was the last thing she heard before another blast.

It was loud.  So loud at first that she could hear nothing, see nothing as brightness seared across her vision, and the impact of whatever had hit—what had to be something nearby—felt concussive and left her utterly disoriented.  The entire world was chaos that offered her senses far too much at once until one of them cut through it all; her stomach felt as if it rose up abruptly enough to force whatever was left in her lungs from her and while she attempted a sound of dismay she felt it in her chest as nothing more than a wheeze—a strained, panicked sound struggling desperately from her throat.

She was falling.  The sensation in her gut had already proved it but her body insisted on confirmation; the search of her feet, the reach of her hands and the flex of her fingers found nothing at all, making all of it true and shocking her body through with finality.  If she could find anything to reach for, could see anything at all—

A sharp pain shot daggers from the prosthetic arm to the electrodes and her shoulder where itjoined her body as the rest of her jerked to a halt and the breath she couldn’t take was suddenly sucked in and immediately released as a cry of pain.  She could barely see. It was still smoke and ash and the sound of any and all of the world tearing apart around her, but she could follow the line of her arm to her wrist where metal fingers were curled, clinging tightly, and it was enough for the sound accompanying it to pierce through everything else.

“It’s a’right, love!  I’ve got ya!”

The heavily-accented voice was more than welcome until it rushed on a moment later in a rapid cadence of repeated words.

“Shit, shit, shit…”

Her focus hadn’t been on it, but she felt a _pop_ reverberate through her arm and then the metal fingers’ grip was alarmingly beginning to loosen and unfurl and she gasped at the strange sensation that came with it—it felt like she was slowly sinking away.  There was another flash of panic but somehow less so. His tone held less urgency and no panic of its own. It helped that it was followed up with more.

“Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna drop ya… that ain’t part of the bargain.”

She clung to the first words, having no idea what the second part meant, if anything.  The physical situation itself screamed for all of her attention.

His other hand was there abruptly and firmly grasping her own, both of them clasped around her prosthetic wrist.  Taking part of her weight off of his prosthetic arm seemed to stabilize it, and for the first time she thought to do the same, her own hand darting up to curl around his wrist in return.  It felt solid and safe and as a wave of smoke blew to the side she was met with a glimpse of his expression, painted with a friendly, ridiculous grin. It matched the situation so poorly that it took her off guard and she breathed out deeply in a disbelieving sound, her own lips curling in a faint smile that didn’t last.

Suddenly she was moving upward.  Jamie’s face contorted into a wince as he was dragged backward, one eye closed and teeth gritted, but soon she was at the edge of the mangled floor, still holding tightly to his hands and not willing to let go until she knew she was firm on solid ground.  It came up quickly. The large hand that took hold of the back of Jamie’s neck pulled them back from the edge.

It was Mako, of course, hauling them up; he had avoided the worst of it somehow, and it was likely he who had grabbed Jamie originally.

Satya was suddenly vertical and staring into Jamie’s shocked face as he tipped backward—Mako had performed his job perhaps a bit _too_ well.  She might have been able to hold her balance… in fact, for a moment she allowed her shoulders to relax before her wrist was tugged harshly forward where Jamie’s prosthetic fingers were still curled around it and before she could even take another breath she was tumbling down with him with an ungraceful squawk.

They hit in sequence; the wheezing gasp he emitted as he hit the ground took the last of his breath with it and he had no time to recover before she fell atop him with her full weight.  If he’d had anything left in him he likely would have uttered something higher in volume than a raspy groan. She was too disoriented to immediately react and took a shaky breath as she tried to get her hands and knees underneath her.  She didn’t realize how poorly she was doing until she felt him twitch hard with another pained sound and she moved her careless knee off of his stomach quickly, finally settled with her hands on either side of him, his fingers still at her wrist, and his eyes finally changing from wide and pained to something less immediately distressing even if he was wracked with a series of unsteady coughs and wheezes as he tried to regain his breath.

She was a bit breathless herself but also finally aware enough of the situation to recognize everything that was happening.  Perhaps her priorities were off, but the first thing that came from her seemed at the moment to be important.

“Sorry…”

He was working to push himself up with his free hand even while his chest rose and fell unevenly, trying to breathe between alternating coughs and wheezes.  He somehow got the words out all the same.

“No worries.”  For whatever reason, he took a moment to futilely brush at the ash that had settled on his shoulder.  

Mako brought the world of smoke and lingering flame back to reality with a low, resonating voice.

“Let’s go.”

She didn’t need to be told twice and nodded to the larger man before pulling away from Jamie and being immediately pulled back down as a small ‘ngh’ of pain reached her ears.  It came too fast to understand before she felt the touch of his fingers at the wrist of the gauntlet and recalled his prosthetic arm. It was suddenly irritating, even if it had been a lifeline moments before.  But at least he had pulled her back down with a purpose—or rather had unintentionally restrained her—which he tried to explain in halted sounds between still-uneasy breaths.

“Fuck, hang on a tick…”  

A couple of weak coughs followed as he pried at the metal fingers and finally pulled them away and immediately moved his attention to the rubber that attached the prosthetic to his upper arm.  She stood up in the interim until whatever adjustment he made was complete and he held the arm up to wiggle metal fingers with a sudden bright smile in his success.

His own staggering breath seemed to remind him of their position and before he could shove himself up she offered a hand and—upon his acceptance—dragged him up herself.

From her new, vertical point of view the damage was much more visible but gave her the same diagnosis: the closet had been more or less sheared away from the building and taken a chunk of their floor with it.

They should absolutely not be there any longer.

The sprint along what was left of the hallway was too manic for her mind to keep up with.  There were stairs in the distance, though she only had a moment to wonder how much of them was actually still intact and of those how many they might actually want to use.  They didn’t have the option of deliberating, anyway. They didn’t even reach them.

Whatever had hit the building had left them isolated from the rest of the floor with a peeling gash in the side of the building building below them and the open air in front.  She had the fleeting moment to be grateful that most everything—the few floors above and below them—ought to have been abandoned save for other Vishkar agents, and they could take care of themselves, priceless art aside.  But the relatively solid ground them underneath them shook with a high-pitched whine and the screech of metal and they all knew immediately that it was all coming down. Oddly, it wasn’t fear she felt. It was anger and it shot through her blood as her hands curled into fists.  They’d had no _time_ …

Jamie’s voice rose over the noise in an expletive.  “Fuck!” She turned toward him to find him with raised eyebrows, a cock of his head to the side, and his arm outstretched to her.  “We gotta go, darl’.”

She accepted the hand on reflex and was pulled close into the side of his body, his arm wrapping around her waist as she saw his right slip into the satchel at his side and procure what appeared to be a mine.  

“Alright.  Hang on. It’s gonna be a ride.”  He seemed confident if apologetic as he glanced at her sidelong.  She had no idea what he intended to do with a mine; he seemed unconcerned and completely at ease with the explosive in his hand but she had one or two reservations.  In her shock it took the sound of his voice to once again spur her into action.

“No, wait.”  She pulled away from him as his as his expression turned to a mix of confusion and desperation, his hand still held out.

“Satya—we ain’t got the time.”

There was no sense in trying to explain it.  And he was right; they didn’t have the time.

Satya took a breath and rid her mind of the unsteady surface under her feet, focusing instead on the blue light between her hands.  It was always pleasant, to bend light. To bring something into being. And even if time seemed to stand still occasionally while she did it, she knew the reality was that it would be finished near-instantly.

A glowing blue portal stood in front of her, the light of it pulsing gently.  It was her turn to grab Jamie.

She took his hand without hesitation and pulled him forward but his foot was firmly in the ground, his peg-leg wedged with stubborn purpose in a twist of metal.  When he didn’t immediately follow she pulled on him more firmly and fixed him with a challenging stare.

“Come with me.”

Despite the direness of the situation the strange indicators of nervousness were on his face, his lips pulled back in a grimace and his body leaning slightly away in hesitance.  

“Where’s it go?”

“ _Down_.”

Mako had moved behind him toward the teleporter, apparently needing less convincing, and with a hand raised was clearly prepared to push the other junker into it if needed.  But she grasped Jamie more firmly and tugged his arm, hard.

They were instantly on the ground.

It was an improvement, at least.  Jamie stumbled onto the field of debris behind her, bumping into her, and Mako pushed far less frantically through after him.  

Jamie was breathless and disoriented for a moment and she made the mistake of noticing.  It was he who raised his eyes upward, stare widening before dropping to her with a strange look of obvious fear about it and she didn’t understand.  He hadn’t seemed particularly concerned with her talk of teleporters before, and although the travel through them was different for everyo—

It was too sudden to fully follow.  All that she knew was that her body was crushed, the space lost and dark and claustrophobic and sharp and jagged against her side, and she hadn’t even had time to blink before she was enveloped in it.  Her breath was nothing but a gasp and her throat let free a small sound of fear as she pressed her hands upward in an attempt to free herself and found the surface to be warm and forgiving, pliable in a way she hadn’t expected.

It was Jamie, his body curled above hers, and in the thin windows of light she could suddenly see on either side of herself his hands pressed hard into the ground on either side of her field of view.  He couldn’t be covering her as well as it appeared; he was tall, after all, but not terribly broad. Even in the scenario, even in her state, on examination she could see that much of the darkness was the debris itself.

An attempt to orient herself by vision offered her nothing but the solidity of Jamie’s skin on her palms did something to ground her, even against the series of loud thuds that shook the ground and the harsh sound of mutilated metal.  Gentler cracks of some material struck on either side and dull thuds sounded above her punctuated by the occasional, small grunt. She wasn’t certain how much of it was hitting the figure above her and how much was simply on either side.  But to a degree it didn’t much matter.

And then she was moving suddenly, the pull rough and harsh.  The claustrophobic space had opened up to the world around her and she gasped air as if it were a thirst, relishing the sensation of being able to breathe even with the debris-filled air.

Mako held both of them and was moving with surprising speed away from the crumbling building.  His movements were abrupt and lumbering and—with the way she had somehow ended up in Jamie’s arms—painful against his metal prosthetics with every bounce.  She spared a glance to him to find that he looked just as dazed as she felt; his eyes focused straight ahead at nothing until a familiar sound pierced through for all of them and they stopped, Mako’s body slowing and all turning toward it.

It was a jet—all black—and it appeared to be surveying the damage of their floor from one end to the other, the windows of its cockpit pointed toward the remains their corner and the vehicle itself pivoting slowly in place before it began to lift to search the next.  It took all of her attention and she knew it did the same for Jamie; he was absolutely still until Mako said his name roughly, demanding his attention.

“Fawkes.”

Jamie snapped to suddenly.  He glanced down to her and took stock of their positions before raising his eyes to Mako, who was breathing heavily through the mask.  She placed the jet in the back of their minds with lower priority as Jamie slipped from Mako’s arms and renewed his focus.

“We can run.”  A second thought struck him and he turned his eyes to her with a nod of acknowledgement.  “Right?”

Rather than answer verbally she nodded in return and dropped quickly from the large man’s arms until she was free on the ground.  Jamie was there beside her in an instant.

Mako was huffing loudly, the sound of wheezes coming through his mask with a weak cough.  She’d entirely failed to notice and concern pierced through her before Jamie hooked his arm under Mako’s elbow and edged himself in under his shoulder in what she was certain couldn’t possibly support any reasonable amount of Mako’s weight.  But perhaps that was a misjudgment, and she rushed to the large man’s other side and did the same. Her height hindered her significantly. Perhaps she was nothing but moral support, but the large man more than deserved whatever help she could give him.

“You ‘right, mate?  It ain’t far.”

Mako responded with a nod and a wheeze that didn’t inspire confidence as they started farther down an alleyway.  At the very least they were out of danger from falling debris, and within a minute their vehicle came into view: the motorcycle with the sidecar, garish and yellow and covered with mismatched and obnoxious artwork, and she couldn’t be any happier to see it.

Mako slipped away from them as he closed the distance to it as Jamie grabbed her hand and dashed to the sidecar in a rush.  She wasn’t familiar with how to configure oneself in such a thing but it didn’t matter; he helped her in the seat and wedged in with her, taking up as little room as possible, his body turned to the side and his arm steeling himself to keep his weight firmly in place, his eyes pointed resolutely forward.  

They were all out of breath.  The motorcycle kicked loudly to life and they were all pushed back as Mako sped out of the alley, away from the myriad flashes of multicolored lights and the loud, blaring sirens.

Within minutes of their departure it was quiet save for the sound of the motor and it wasn’t until it had continued for an interminably long time before any of them spoke.  Jamie’s voice was hoarse from smoke and ash but he said it in the same tone of numb wonder that she imagined any of them would.

“What the bloody hell…”

If she could find it in her to talk she would be asking the same thing.  It wasn’t a question that needed to be answered and none of them tried. Satya focused on the wind as it moved past them, closing her eyes against the sounds.

She didn’t have much to hold onto and very little felt solid with the memory of falling and the uncertain ground fresh in her mind.  But she had slivers of Jamie’s warm body on one side and the cold, rigid metal of the sidecar on the other and it would have to do.


	4. Johannesburg: Pt. 2

The motorcycle pulled directly into the tall, broad door and into the empty space, the sound of it reverberating too-loud against the walls.  Maybe Mako knew; he stalled the engine and slipped off of the bike, beginning to push it the short remainder of the distance as Jamie jumped out and held his hand out toward Satya in an invitation for her to take it.  What felt like a complete lack of balance wasn’t only physical but also mental, and she seized on the gesture gratefully and took his hand.  

He let go near-instantly once she was on her feet and hurried toward a wall, pulling his fingers into his palm and giving it two good knocks with the outside of a curled fist.  It popped inward slightly and rolled to the side with a low, grinding sound that she recognized from when she’d been taken hostage in Rio.  

It was a new place, although it had to have been; she’d never seen them in South Africa.  The hideouts had all—she suddenly realized—begun to feel somewhat familiar.

Mako pulled the vehicle in and Jamie followed after without so much as a second thought and she came after with an equal lack of hesitation.  Once she was inside he hit the door twice more, prompting the same noise as it slid shut. She barely had time to think let alone manage her thoughts to form speech before Jamie was doing the job for her.

“You a’right?”

Somehow she hadn’t really thought about it until he asked, and judging by the way he looked at her her wide-eyed stare didn’t ease his nerves.  Oddly, what her mind immediately snapped to was her hair and she began attempting to smooth it as carefully as possible. It helped, even if her voice felt a bit small as she lowered her eyes, attempting ineffectually to brush some of the ash from her clothes, casting a quick glance over the exposed skin of her arms and finding, miraculously, nothing of note.

“More or less, I believe.”

It was the best answer she could give.  She hadn’t had much time to take stock, and despite being offered the opportunity her mind was still too muddled, too elsewhere to fully consider it.  Regardless she was certain she was clear of any major injuries. 

The quiet of her voice had apparently been overridden by her answer; he released a deep, relieved breath that came from his entire body and his shoulders slumped with it, the tension easing from him all at once.

“Thank christ for that.  Talk about a—”

His voice came to an abrupt halt sudden enough to put her off-guard and he blinked, his body jumping back to attention quite literally as his hands and shoulders raised before he went stock-still.  His eyes went impossibly wide.

“Shit!  Shit shit shit…”  His stare was pointed squarely at her and he sucked in a breath as he stumbled uneasily over the words in a tone that seemed both intensely apologetic and anxious.

“Didn’t even think—”  

It was more than anxiety—it seemed like something closer to dread and it matched the wincing attempt at a smile on his face all too well, the attempt at normalcy dying only a moment after it was brought to life.  When combined with the helpless gestures of his hands in clear attempt to explain…  _ something _ … it was actually a bit disconcerting.

“Didn’t really mean to—”  His tongue tripped and stuttered over the words and apparently the thoughts as well, backing around on them and trying again.   “I mean, I dunno what’s goin’ on out there right now…”  

She could feel the furrow etching itself onto her forehead.  He was trying to go somewhere and she didn’t know where it was, nor how to get him there.  Maybe it was some subconscious mimic of Mako—she set her voice firmly over it despite how strange the name sounded on her tongue.

“Fawkes.”

He blinked, snapped back to attention, and focused his eyes fully on her once again.  It had apparently recalibrated him; he cleared his throat but seemed only slightly less skittish for it, fingers curled and his hands kept near his chest.  

Mako’s voice cut in, sounding more airy and quiet than usual, cut through by a wheeze.  

“I think he’s saying we didn’t mean to kidnap you.  This time.”

It was clear that Mako didn’t just  _ think _ it at all; she had a feeling he’d had to serve as translator a number of times.

“Just sorta got caught up in—”  Jamie’s voice faltered again, apparently not sure how to finish the thought. He held a troubled expression but it didn’t seem like it was due to her presence.  Still dazed, his eyes had wandered elsewhere, unfocused as if he were re-thinking the events in real time. “Wouldn’t‘ve felt right just bailin’ out on ya…”

She hadn’t even thought of it, hadn’t even questioned the ride, their ultimate destination.  Perhaps that ought to concern her. She didn’t have the time or the extra energy for it. Rather, she focused on him intently as she leaned to try to infiltrate his field of view, her voice firm in a similar attempt to bring him back.

“It’s fine.  Truly.”

He blinked heavily and shook off the wandering thoughts, staring at her blankly for a moment before he was capable of doing anything else.  Even if he had calmed his features were still somewhat drawn, but his tense lean away from her relaxed, his body actually bending slightly toward her with the offer, his face a clear display of concern—for her, she was sure, although she wasn’t sure what exactly for.

“If you wanna hang out for a bit…I mean, seems like it’s a bloody shemozzle out there.”  He straightened slightly and glanced toward Mako, who only coughed. “Otherwise there’s a ride.”

Whatever doubts he had she hadn’t—for some reason it had seemed like a given while riding in the sidecar, while still trying to breathe the ash out of her lungs.  And maybe it was just her disorientation but something had felt… off. Beyond the missile and the attack in general, something felt far deeper than some simple, unexplained assault on the museum.

Even if it hadn’t felt conscious, going along with the junkers had immediately struck her as the absolute safest option available, and it was only his own immediate hesitance that made her reconsider the instinct.  But she liked to think even logic nudged the thought aside. They had a safehouse. They had a scanner, a way to keep connected to what was going on. And they had something else.

The world had suddenly become so  _ big _ , so full of unknowns, and too full of sound and dark and light and between the past hour and the ride in the bike she felt as though her feet had only that very moment felt the first solid ground since it all began.  She didn’t have the balance she wanted. Or rather, the world  _ outside _ suddenly had no balance, and she was so far away from it as to feel foreign in it.  

At the very least in the small space it was relatively quiet.  The lights were low. It felt slight and warm without being claustrophobic and—despite not being a safehouse she’d visited before—it was recognizable in its thin rooms and thinner walls and the way that all of the items in the hideout contrasted so heavily with the broad echo of the warehouse outside.

The idea of being comfortable there might be questionable in itself if she bothered to dwell on it but it would be better, she thought, to keep her mind anywhere but at the chaos they had just escaped.  However strange it may have seemed, the familiar nature of the place and the presence of the junkers who had twice stolen her away had made it feel like, for the time being, the most preferable place to be.

Regardless of the reasons to stay she couldn’t help but agree.  But she still had the presence of mind to remind herself that it was better said without sounding like she  _ wanted _ to.  It was easier thought than done.  She seized upon his idea and copied it, twisted it only slightly, repackaged it as her own suggestion. 

“It might be best if we simply lie low for a while.  Things seem… unsettled right now.”

There was the ‘we’ again, a treacherous thing.  It was unintended but accurate all the same.

He, at least, didn’t seem to notice any of it.  Instead he huffed out a sigh of relief and his arms went slack again.

“Yeah.  Reckon you’re right.

His distress over her presence absolved, he blinked in a way that once again seemed to reset his mind; his body jumped to attention at some thought and he darted to the side to dig through a box near the door, procured a canister for Mako, and immediately slapped it into the large man’s hand.  

“Have a lie-down, won’t ya, mate?  Maybe grab a kip.”

It seemed they’d been waiting for her presence to be resolved.

Mako grunted, ripping the spent canister out of the mask and shoving in the new; the mask released a loud hiss as he took a deep breath with one wheeze after but he nodded and literally shook his body off before moving heavily into the back to someplace she didn’t know.  

Jamie seemed relieved and finally went still, sinking the room into quiet.

The both of them stood in silence for a while longer, staring blankly at one another and both, she somehow knew, completely unfocused, possibly not seeing one-another at all.  For once she found her voice first. She wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, but it felt like it may have been an attempt to channel his typical approach, and while it was a bit shaky and it showed in her voice she laced it with stubborn humor all the same.  

“No rope this time, then?”

It took a moment.  It began with a small snort that flared his nostrils but his composure degraded near-instantly from there.  A burst of air left him in a loud laugh that was quickly trailed by others—a satisfied and breathless thing only made moreso as it failed to stop.  His posture curled and he was forced to lift his hand to his face in a movement suggesting he was wiping a tear away; she wondered if he actually had.

It had broken a tension and in it she felt her own nerves ease slightly with it, her lungs free to take a inhale more deeply.  It took time for him to catch his own, a feat only done, apparently, by the way he drove his teeth into his lower lip. She was pleased enough to be distracted by his attempts to pull himself together to forget everything else and she watched the process with an amused, faint little smile.  It was strangely satisfying and served to be a more-than-sufficient distraction, but there were details she didn’t have the time to mull over before he spoke in a voice still soaked with pleasant amusement.

“I’d say you’re in the clear, love.”   There was still a simple kind of delight in his voice but he had stood straight with a broad, toothy grin that seemed more genuine than the usual.  She was too distracted by the words to think of much of it. “Unless you were hopin’ for it.”

It was clear innuendo but he said it benignly that it seemed like nothing at all.  A joke and nothing more. 

“I think I’ll pass.”

“Alright.”  He raised his shoulders in a casual shrug in utter, smiling defeat. “Looks like I gotta trust ya, then.”   

But the relief and the quiet that followed allowed other insistent things to start to seep in: memories of events and emotions.  He had moved to the scanner, his body briefly stretched to turn it on. In the short seconds his attention was elsewhere there was nothing to distract her from it; his skin was a pallet of ash and soot marked with thin lines of deeper black in places where some form of debris had cut deep enough to draw blood but shallow enough to leave nothing but dark etches, the liquid caked and solidified as dark in the all-covering grime.  There was a series of straight dark scrapes tracing upward on his stomach—remnants, she realized, of when he had been dragged up against the jagged surface of the building while holding her weight.

She didn’t bother listening to the scanner.  It offered no helpful information. His stretch to turn it on, unfortunately, had. 

She had failed to reciprocate his earlier question but it wasn’t why she asked.

“Are  _ you  _ alright?”  

 She attempted for it to sound only like a fair reply to his inquiry about her, but there were distinct notes of concern in it that she couldn’t take back, and once they’d escaped she wasn’t even sure if it bothered her or not.   

He had just twisted the knob to silence the radio and he blinked at the words in a way that suggested confusion before looking down at himself, a crease formed on his brow as if he didn’t understand the question.  It should not have been a difficult thing to answer.  

“Me?”

“Yes.  You.”

He raised his palms, wiggled metal fingers, attempted to brush off some of the ash clinging to his arm and his shoulder with mixed success, and then raised his eyes back to her with a crooked, clumsy grin, all teeth present save for the stubborn gold.

“Bushytailed, love.”

He seemed to have entirely skipped over the most obvious issues—the scrapes on his belly,  the bruises beginning to form on his skin, and she fixed him with a dubiously-raised eyebrow.   But his attention had drifted elsewhere, causing the grin to slowly fade in favor of a slight frown and a furrowed brow.  His eyes pulled away from hers and appeared to focus elsewhere on her face, and he seemed not entirely conscious of the way he inched carefully toward her, hand lifted.  She likely ought to have pulled away but her body failed to give the signal. Perhaps it was the careful nature of the way he approached or what seemed like an odd curiosity painted deeply with concern on his features.  The curiosity she couldn’t help but return.

She was uncertain what precisely was happening until his thumb brushed against her cheek in a light, sweeping touch.  And she didn’t react save for her own look of bemusement, her eyes on his as he pulled back and looked at her—at the skin that he’d touched—with a tip of his head and a quiet sigh that sounded relieved.

It was strange.  And it may have been the inquisitive tip of her own chin and a lightly narrowed, searching eye that made his relief short-lived.

His eyes shifted back to hers, growing wider, and he cleared his throat carefully with a single faint, strained giggle following after—one of the sort she’d begun to recognize as reflexive, and this one highly unnerved.

“Just thought it might be… ah...”  

The thought, or at least the words, died and he uttered a weak cough instead, taking a step back with his hands up to his chest in that same strange, defensive posture.

She wasn’t certain if the crease forming on her brow was a response to his behavior or her own—her lagging, perplexed reply to the touch itself.  He had clearly thought there was something there, something worth risking the touch over, and she raised her hand to press against the skin, finding it solid and leaving her confused.

It certainly didn’t help him.  He winced, the grin seeming reflexive as well, but it looked apologetic all the same and he raised a finger to indicate she ought to wait as he stumbled slightly over the words.

“Hang on a tick, ey?”

Her hand was still on her cheek when he bolted.  His disappearance allowed only a moment for the thought to fully reach her:  _ what exactly just happened?   _

She lowered her hand, examining her fingertips gingerly with the pad of her thumb and a darker shade of ash smeared across her skin and sank itself into her fingerprints.  There were only a few muffled sounds of movement behind some makeshift wall before he returned. She barely had time to look up.

Jamie was holding a towel in one hand and a jug of water in the other and looked incredibly uncertain, shoulders tense and drawn upward.  He came to a stop in front of her, spine straight, eyes wide under tightly-knit brows and he held both of them out for her at arms’ length.  

Satya blinked in surprise and took them without fully understanding what precisely they were for.

“We don’t ‘ave a shower here but I reckoned…”  Nothing had changed at all about his behavior and there didn’t seem to be any reason for it; the grimace, the shoulders tense in apology, the way his eyes darted off to the side.  “I mean, I thought if ya wanna clean up a bit you might be more comfortable, at any rate.”

She looked at what she held.  The towel appeared to be clean.  

“Oh.”  She felt all sorts of at odds with the world.  Maybe it was simply confusion, but her voice was smaller than she herself had expected it to be and she glanced up to him partway through.  “Yes, thank you. I appreciate it.”

He simply nodded, grinning crookedly, and a second that felt much longer due to the awkwardness of it passed before he spoke abruptly once again with a wincing laugh and started to edge out of the room, quite literally backing away.

“I’m gonna check in on Roadie.  Back in a tick.” He stopped briefly with an apparent sudden thought.  “Gimme a yell if ya need anythin’, yeah?.”

Satya recalled her question from earlier.  She’d begun to further doubt that he was alright, in a variety of respects.

“But—”

But he was gone.  Her lips pursed together in mild frustration.

It was clearly stranger behavior than usual... whatever that meant.  Or at least it seemed stranger given the circumstances, or possibly  _ because  _ of them.  She’d seen him with what seemed like genuine contrition—a fact that was amusing in itself—but this didn’t seem to fit the situation, not after everything that had happened.

She couldn’t think of a single thing he should be apologetic  _ for _ .

Thinking about it puzzled her, a fact she found annoying, so she was left watching the space where he had been before shaking her head and looking down to the towel and the water instead.  She supposed regardless of whatever else she ought to utilize the time to make herself as clean as possible… upon further thought it was an undeniably fantastic gift.

She wouldn’t have been able to guess how soothing it would be, even if she couldn’t get anywhere near completely clean.  

Her face, naturally, was an absolute mess with streaks of soot and ash and fine particles of grit, things she couldn’t be happier to rid herself as quickly as possible.  She moved to her neck, letting the cool towel rest on her skin once it was clean to savor the feel of it, no hint of grit there, at least. Once that had finished she began on her hair.  It took a great deal of care and investment to make progress; she took it down from the ponytail and rid it of a great deal of dust, leaving it down so that it could fully dry. She brushed off her clothing as best she could and did the same for her arms and legs only to find that the fabric was absolutely and completely ruined.  She hadn’t expected otherwise. It didn’t make it any less of a shame.

But her skin felt like it could breathe again and her body wasn’t stifled by the weight anymore, however slight it may have been.  She let out a deep sigh and allowed her shoulders to relax as she placed the towel down on yet another makeshift workbench.

It came with a shock.  Not a metaphorical shock but a literal one—a faint jolt of electricity ran the length of the gauntlet to the electrodes at her bicep and shoulder and it was surprising enough to make her jump.  She lowered her eyes to the armor to examine it as she turned her wrist carefully, attempting to replicate it, and came upon success with her wrist turned inward and her elbow bent. It must have sustained mild damage at some point, and perhaps the motions of cleaning herself had exacerbated it, had torn or stripped something further.  

It would be fixed when she returned to Vishkar.  It wasn’t the first time it had happened, naturally, and she was certain it wouldn’t be the last, but it was an irritant all the same.  It would be best to try to forget it and simply keep her arm still, or at least avoid the motion as much as possible. There was nothing she could do about it on her own.

It was only once her hands had nothing left to occupy them that she fully recalled herself to the space she was in and remembered where she was, the chain of events that had led her there, and the conditions under which she had arrived.  And she realized, suddenly: it was still very quiet. Jamie had not returned. The place wasn’t imposing or threatening in any way, but without either of the junkers there and in the absolute silence... she began to feel utterly alien, and not only that but deeply, deeply alone.  It did not pair well with the earlier events of the day. It wasn’t a risk she wanted to take or a frame of mind she was interested in living in much longer.

“Jamie?”

It wasn’t a familiar name on her tongue, but more than that it didn’t seem like the right way she should be using it.  It wasn’t the type of name you threw out into the ether and hoped for a call back. Or at least, she wouldn’t have expected it to be.  It came back all the same, faintly muted by halfheartedly-constructed walls.

“Yeah!  Yeah. ‘ang on…”

The silence returned and she stood, surrounded by it, swimming in it, feeling awkward and out of place and most of all uneasy.  It hadn’t done much to soothe the things scratching at the back of her mind, so she decided to occupy herself with something else instead.

Satya reached for the towel she had set down and took it in hand.  It was easy to tell herself that it was an innocent thing, no selfish desire to wander through their makeshift domicile, but neither did she wish to stand surrounded by the quiet and the shadows from a mere half hour or so before.  

Calling for Jamie again didn’t seem necessary and the fact that there was only one direction to go simplified the situation.  She pressed forward through the opening that served as a doorway into the narrow space between two wooden walls—wondering how Mako even managed to fit—and hesitated for a moment; she was faced with two directions.  A faint hiss reached her ears from the left and her feet had begun to shift toward it until something else tugged at her attention instead—metal striking metal, gently, but there all the same. It was an uneven sound, unlike the steady hiss.  It sounded purposeful. It made it inherently more interesting.

She turned right.  It only took a few steps in the compressed space before another gap opened up to her right and she turned the corner without so much as considering any other option.

She nearly ran into him.  Jamie was there—of course he was—surrounded by jugs of water, a toothbrush in his mouth held resolutely in the curled fingers of his left hand, his eyes impossibly wide and surprised and—she’d seen it before, she thought—dumbstruck.  Much like in the hallway of the gallery oddly enough, when he had asked about her uniform. It was a strange detail for her to remember, but then it had been strange of him to say in the first place. And aside from her sudden appearance there didn’t seem to be much justification for the expression, although granted she was quite surprised, herself.

It was clear that he had made an attempt on his hair; the sandy-blond had been buried by their recent adventure but he’d restored it to some extent, or at least managed to clear the worst of it, leaving patches of natural color amongst muddled hues.  She could tell even around the toothbrush that his face he’d done well with—clean enough for the pink blooming there to be seen. A strange enough color in itself. He’d removed the straps typically across his chest and the canisters had gone with it, the pattern on his skin making it clear that he hadn’t yet scrubbed the places where the leather had met his chest.

Everything may have been fine if she had simply stopped there—or rather, if he hadn’t made  _ the mistake _ .  Perhaps things may have been less  _ what they were  _ if his eyes hadn’t darted downward and then back up to hers almost too quick to be caught.  Maybe if they had moved more slowly so as to be less suspicious, maybe if they had been less wide, less like a deer in headlights, maybe...  But if she were being honest with herself it was doubtful there would have been any way to save the situation and it didn’t matter afterward, anyway.

Her response to it was not at all her fault.  It was reflexive, the way the dart of his stare downward demanded her eyes do the same.  It wasn’t just the defined muscles of his torso; she had been able to glimpse some of that before thanks to his ‘uniform’, had she wanted to.  Nor was it the presence of the prosthetic hand. That as well she could have examined to some degree. Rather, it was the way that his metal fingers were gripping both his shorts and the fabric underneath tightly, both garments only partially-raised, leaving his right side nearing presentable while the fabric at his left side sat dangerously askew and hung far,  _ far _ too low on his hips.  So low, in fact, that her eyes were captured by and followed the pronounced but gentle curve of the muscles at his hips as they dipped low across his abdomen, downward where she could nearly see their terminus, all of which additionally only served to highlight the faint trail of hair running lower down his body before disappearing behind the barrier of his prosthetic.

In terms of covering what she ought not see he may as well have only been wearing the metal hand.  What she  _ could _ see the low lightly only defined even more.

At the side of her vision she caught the dusty outline of the clothing he’d been wearing at the gallery when they had entered the hideout.  The shorts partially on his body were something clean and it was as if he’d forgotten the task of changing them midway through and opted to brush his teeth instead.  Regardless, the position of all of it made it very clear that had her timing been slightly earlier she may have stumbled upon a very different scene, and perhaps stumbled  _ into _ it.

It was no doubt that it was her stare that caused his fingers to subtly curl more closely around the waistband of the shorts, although he didn’t attempt to pull them farther up—perhaps aware that to do so might break some delicate balance that kept the moment from devolving from something they might be able to ignore into full-fledged, undeniable mortification on both of their parts.  That small detail may have done more to drive home the scene than anything else had and it caused her stomach to jerk sideways.

_ Oh _ .  It was a sound she wasn’t even certain if she said aloud.

She didn’t dare take a step back; staying close came with its own unfortunate repercussions but the damage there had already been done.  Backing away might allow her to have a fuller picture of the exposed swaths of his pale skin and, worse, might make it yet more clear to him just how much she had noticed.  Not noticed, per se… clearly she had noticed his position. But just how much she had  _ noticed _ .  She would take the option with less overall damage, just as he had with his careful securing of the fabric at his waist.  It required her to be delicate with her voice.

“I, ah…”  

She lifted the towel and held it lamely as she offered it to him, chancing a quick glance upward toward his face with pre-emptive regret.  He had straightened slightly as if doing so would create a slightly larger distance between them without something so obvious as a step away.  It was unfortunate in the way it highlighted his chest and the shallow breath moving through it. It was a different view when he was standing straight.  And it was a different view when he wasn’t wearing the leather harness.  

He was staring with the same shock, undimmed, his lips curled around the head of the toothbrush and his shoulders tense.  She continued in a voice that sounded far too weak even to her ears.

“... wasn’t certain what I should do with this.”

It was a terrible excuse and felt like a pointless thing to say.  A terrible excuse for snooping about in the first place, let alone running into him mid-dressed… at best.  But the best thing she could do was end it all as mercifully as possible.

He blinked rapidly, his eyes flitted down to the towel presented in front of him and then back up to her.  It was agonizingly slow and cautious, the way he unfurled his fingers from around the toothbrush to leave it hanging unsteadily between pursed lips.  But once certain it was stable he reached out to tentatively take the towel, his elbow kept close to his body, as little of him moving as was possible.  

There was small blessing in the fact that him drawing it back toward himself put more of his body out of sight behind the fabric, but even so she could feel the flame suddenly burst on her cheeks and rather than attempt anything further she made absolutely certain to keep her eyes firmly upon the towel itself, briefly considered attempting an explanation, decided hastily against it, and simply turned and left.

The journey back to the main room took less than a minute—not nearly long enough for her to feel even remotely recovered.  She didn’t dare investigate anything else of the place lest she happen upon some other surprise and instead she simply returned to the main room and sat heavily down on a chair near a workbench, hands folded in her lap, her mind free, at least, of thoughts about the prior stresses of the day.  Those thoughts had been abruptly replaced by other things. Other things she’d really rather not consider. The embarrassment had no right to set her heart beating quite so hard and her mind had no right to continue skipping back to when she’d lowered her eyes, keeping the feeling locked in her chest despite her attempts to shove it all away.  She was losing the battle. She opted to focus on the strange, static hiss as best she could.

She didn’t realize just how far she had buried her mind in the sound until it came to a slow stop and she shook herself, chancing a look toward the blank doorway with no small amount of apprehension.

Jamie’s face was an exaggerated picture of concentration as he re-entered carrying the teacup and a box of teabags in left hand, kettle in right, a towel draped over his shoulders, and two packets—one powdered cream and one sugar—held between his teeth.  He spoke resolutely through them and managed to be intelligible, not too muzzled.

“Gah so’ wa’er fer a cupp’ah, if y’wan’ any.”   

The look of concentration didn’t entirely disappear even after he placed all of the components on the workbench, after which each hand went to its hip and something about the pose seemed as if it were setting him ill at ease... poorly hidden in the mismatched combination of his widened eyes, furrowed brow, and ears tipped in pink.  

“We got chai and…”  He raised left hand to gently scratch above his temple.  “Well... that’s kinda it.”

She chanced a quick look at him and their eyes unfortunately met before both of their gazes skittered away once again, not before she made easy note of the returning color on his cheeks that came spreading back from his ears, stubborn and insistent on keeping its place.  For once it had a perfectly clear explanation. One that brought the prior incidence of it into question. But she certainly wasn’t going to bring it up and he seemed content to make a point of not looking at her, let alone address it.  

Still, it was a bit hard not to think of the other times she’d seen it, or some variation of it.  All recent, she thought—was she certain? The hallway at the museum, the touch at her cheek.

Her eyes burned into the box of tea before she suddenly found a different idea to cling to and she moved her tongue over the words without so much as looking at him.

“No other kind at all?”

“Er… what was ‘at?”

“No other kind of tea.”

The complete lack of sound—the indication he hadn’t understood—warranted a glance up toward him; the stare he fixed on her suggested he wasn’t sure if she was being serious, but when she managed to maintain her gaze he blinked, a rapid, fluttering thing, and expressed the clear confusion on his face in his voice as well. 

“I just kinda thought...”  The perplexion remained through his attempt to come up with something else to say before giving up and ending with no less bemusement.  “... I can check if ya want?”

“Yes, please.  If you don’t mind.”

“... yeah, a’right.”

Clearly still bewildered, he blinked at her once or twice more before turning on his heel and moving with slow, disoriented steps back through the doorway he’d come from.

It was more of an excuse than anything else.   Actually, it was  _ only  _ an excuse.

She felt as if the air was lighter after he left, and despite the fact that she’d sent him off to check for something else her hands went immediately to the task of preparing the tea; she plucked three tea bags from the box and poured hot water over them, piling the cup full in a desperate attempt to make it steep to something drinkable more quickly.  Surely a comforting drink would not only go farther to calm her mind but would also provide her hands with something to do. Pointedly avoiding any thoughts of preparing for his return might have been a mistake.

He returned through the doorway sans towel, leaving the skin of his chest entirely uninterrupted.  He raised his hand to rub the back of his neck, a brow furrowed in an obvious look of disappointment on his face.  It was simple to tell the answer without needing to hear it; she had known the answer before sending him off to check, after all.  

“Sorry, darl’.  Haven’t got anythin’ else.”  The dismay on his features was brief but ridiculous, as if her request had been entirely reasonable.  As if for some reason he should have prepared for another visit with a broader selection of drinks.

She had a moment of regret at the tone of his voice but he recovered partially with a crooked grin.

“Only had some chai left over after, uh...”  He’d started to reconsider the words partway through but it was too late to be anything but a reminder.  After they took her hostage. The second time. He cleared his throat, not finishing.

Her mind jumped to a reply almost before she could restrain it:  _  How could I forget. _

It was too intimate and she tried something else, attempting something more… distant. 

“I remember.”  But her tongue undermined her and her lips twitched upward, attempting a traitorous smirk.  “It was a nice touch.”  

It was almost as bad.

He seemed slightly relieved and even offered a crooked smile at her statement.  Her words resulted in them catching each others’ eyes for no more than a second.  For some reason she’d thought it might not be regrettable. It still was.

The parting of their gaze was followed by a deeply nervous laugh, quiet but slipping from him before he could stop it, cut off suddenly between his teeth.

“No sense wastin’ it.  Guess it came in handier than expected.”

He bobbed on his toes uncertainly, seemed to realize he was still standing, and after a seconds’ hesitation he slid ungracefully into the chair across from her.  It was hard to say if it was an improvement over having him loom stiffly above her; once at the same level it was difficult not to intermittently, unintentionally stare at each other, him from the cup to her face and then away to the side, her directly at his facial features and then back into the cup that seemed to be steeping with agonizing slowness.  

Her mind clawed for something and found an unexpected set of words and she threw them into the empty air.

“Have you had it?”

“What, chai?”

“Mm.”

“Yeah.  It ain’t bad.  Picked some up after Mexico.  Reckoned I’d give it a go.”

She was fairly certain he hadn’t picked it up for himself, or at least not  _ only _ for himself.  Just as certain as she had been when they took her in Rio.  But it wasn’t something she wanted to draw attention to.

She glanced down into the cup.  A mere second of quiet passed before she decided it was done—that she  _ needed _ it to be done and the actual taste didn’t matter.  It had a slightly deeper color to it and that was enough.  She pulled the cup toward herself, removing the bags with care and replaced them with the contents of the cream and sugar packets.  It might still be weaker than she liked but it was all very handy: it gave her a perfect excuse to keep her eyes down into the liquid and she did, raising the cup to her lips for a careful sip.  She regretted it immediately; it was, to put it charitably, not good. She couldn’t say if it was mere politeness or the need to fill the silence that made her ask.

“Would you like some?”

“Yeah, nah.  Reckon if anyone deserves it it’s gotta be you.”  Still, there was a wince to his voice as he went on, stumbling once again into something he was too late to stop himself from saying.  “What with the whole...kidnapping history...”  

He snapped his teeth down over the words and stared straight forward, his eyes puzzled and blank, as if not even certain why the words kept insisting to be said.  And because she was ridiculously grateful for his refusing the drink—simply so that she didn’t have to find some way to share a below-mediocre cup with him—she threw him a lifeline.

“You should probably stop bringing it up.”

His eyes snapped back into focus and he was struck by a faint, easier snicker and she raised her eyes, glancing at him.  His shoulders had relaxed slightly and his eyes were briefly closed with the laugh before the moment passed.

“Only got one cup, anyhow.  It ain’t much good for parties.”

She lifted her head to cast a quick glance through the small space around her with an imperiously-raised eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t worry so much about the cup.  I think you’re dealing with other limiting factors.”

He took her meaning all too well with a still-awkward, half-crooked smile but without the hints of nervousness that came before.  His response came with a close look, one eye narrowed at her.

“Oi now, this is me  _ castle _ .”

She replied to his expression with an eye narrowed in return.

“And Rio?”

“... one of many of ‘em.”

It pulled a faint laugh from her.  

“I suppose you do have the treasure part covered.”

He replied with a smile of his own.  There was a slight pause in which they looked at each other, and for the first time since the incident it didn’t feel tentative.  Perhaps it encouraged him—she should have found warning in the way the smile began to broaden into a grin as he went on.

“Anyhow, more of a boba kinda bloke, meself.  You ever had it?”

She considered him, glancing over his expression.

“I have not.”

“Oof.  You’re missin’ out, darl’.  Little bubbles ‘a heaven in a cup.  You like sugar and cream in your tea?  Lemme tell ya, you can’t go wrong with boba.”

She tipped her head to the side slightly as she listened, mindlessly taking a small drink of her own beverage and immediately regretting it.  Perhaps boba was something she ought to try. He might have read her mind; his features bloomed into a broad, enthusiastic grin.

“Oi!  That’s it, ain’t it?  Tell ya what, I’ll take you sometime.  Best stuff you can find is this little place in… er…”  His voice reached a sudden halt and he paused, his eyes briefly screwed upward as he thought.  “Taipei? Someplace.”

It was like Mexico, except not at all.  The invitation in Mexico had been unsettling in its earnestness, in its hopeful assumption that she would be interested in lengthening her stay in the junkers’ presence.  This, though… despite the technicalities of the phrasing it seemed exaggerated, more like a performance, a one man show intended for her alone. It was an invitation that she didn’t even have to turn down.  She wasn’t meant to.

She paired her reply with a smirk.

“You do realize that Taipei is not a small place.”

His eyes narrowed, accusatory, though she wasn’t sure how genuinely.  She suspected not much at all.

“Trust me, you put me in that city and I’ll get ya there.  I can sniff this stuff out.”

“Is this like your location in Mexico?”

“Mexico?”

“The diner.  You seemed to know the place quite well.”  

She had wondered even more, afterward.  Why no one seemed to notice them. And while stranger things had clearly happened, there could be truth in what she saw as well, and she had no problem with stressing the idea.

“I got the impression you might be repeat customers.”

His squint deepened at the suggestion.

“... dunno why you’d think that…”

“Ah, yes.  I’d forgotten how people are  just naturally so comfortable around you two.”

His features showed offense and he looked at her more closely but when she managed to hold his gaze he leaned back in his chair; if she couldn’t tell if it had been real the broad grin that spread across his features made the answer clear, the expression wide enough to show a glinting gold tooth.  Still, as if holding doggedly to the attempt to be convincing, he tapped his fingers in sequence on the bench next to himself and narrowed a single eye at her in a look intended to be intimidating, utterly unconvincing with the lingering smile.

“... I’m startin’ to think you’re doubtin’ my natural charisma.”

She couldn’t quite help it: the words dissolved into a shared grin and a smile, a faint snicker from him and a low, quiet chuckle of her own.  But she could see no world in which they didn’t offer pay-offs, and she couldn’t help but press.

“Truly, though, how on earth has no one has turned you in yet?

“Dunno, really.”  He paused with a careless shrug, seemingly equally oblivious about it, possibly not even caring, and certainly not about to admit anything she wanted to know.  

“Guess we sorta hide in plain sight?”

That required a look, and a dry one at that.  Her tone was flat with it as she pushed back.

“You.”

He offered her a helpless shrug and a grin and she narrowed her eyes further.

“And  _ Mako _ .”

“What can I say?  We just got a way about us.”

The smirk on his face was still too nebulous to offer her anything and she gave up with a mildly irritated huff, her tone clearly indicating that she still didn’t believe him.

“And yet with such a large bounty no one’s bothered to inform on you…”

“Yeah, well…”  

He must have heard the disbelief in it.  It started innocent enough, nothing but his occasional bobbing, lilting tone of easy agreeableness, but even within the two words it began to drop and trail off in a sudden, deep hesitation that seemed for a moment like it might drown out his intended words entirely.  But they fought themselves out anyway.

“ _ You _ haven’t.”

The conversation came to a dead stop.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t made an attempt… sort of.  She had taken what she had and used it herself to try to track their movements but she hadn’t shared it with any authorities.  It left the question hanging with the lights on the wires above them: why  _ hadn’t _ she?

But he verbalized the question for her.  

“... why is that, ‘zactly?”

His voice was strained, as if it was fighting against itself, not entirely wanting to leave his throat.  But it was a genuine question that sounded confused and strangely apprehensive that she might actually answer.

She tried to think of the reasons.  She  _ knew  _ she knew them: her ideas were incomplete, a theory only and thus unhelpful.  The information couldn’t have contained anything the authorities didn’t already know.  But that couldn’t be right—if nothing else she had what seemed to be the most intimate knowledge about their hideouts.  But then, of course, there was his dismissal of her. Her eyes narrowed slightly at the memory of it.  

In a strange way it felt like if she tried to have him captured it would prove that he had won something.  It would prove that he was more than a speck of dust, just as easily forgotten and not at all worth chasing after.

It was possible he mistook her expression for something else as he rushed on without waiting for a response, seeming eager to leave the ostensibly-accidental statement behind him with a nervous laugh that died on his lips as soon as the words came—a suspicious, abrupt end to it.

“Wouldn’t have been much point even if you did considerin’... always on the move an’ all that..  Like to keep people on their toes.”  

He offered a halfhearted grin that she only saw in her peripheral vision.  It was a way out and rather than allowing her to take it he forced it into the conversation himself.

She couldn’t determine who she was more irritated with: him or herself.  Her fingers tightened on the cup.

The jolt came out of nowhere.  Maybe it was the intensity of the grip or maybe it was some subtle movement of her arm as she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, but it didn’t care much about reason: the jerk of the arm burnt needles through the pads of the electrodes on her shoulder and bicep and she gasped involuntarily, her prosthetic fingers attempting to splay and curl inward on themselves for the briefest of seconds.  She immediately moved the cup to her right hand and took a deep breath, at least removing one risk. The last thing she wanted was further attention. 

But there wasn’t much hope that he hadn’t noticed and she glanced up only to find him watching her with one eye narrowed gently in both clear concern and implied question.  She wasn’t certain why, but the shock felt personal. Especially given their conversation it felt like it should be her wound to lick and hers alone. But the futility of trying to ignore it or move past it without comment was obvious.  Still, she didn’t have to be happy about it.

“It must have been damaged, I think, at some point when…”  

She would rather not revisit specifics of anything, and it was too easy to speculate anyway.  When he had initially caught her? When the fingers of his prosthetic hand had gotten stuck on her own arm?  Or perhaps simply when he grabbed her before the teleporter, or even during the debris fall. She had no interest in musing over it and attempted casualness again with a quiet sip of the tea and what she felt was reasonable success, but a glance at him revealed that he had only tipped his chin to the side in a way that typically meant interest.  She thought he might. She supposed it was reasonable. And she tried to brush it away before it could grow any further.

“Nothing worth worrying about.”

“Want me to ‘ave a gander?”

“It’s really not an issue.”

Her voice was flat and she kept her eyes lowered stubbornly to the cup and it felt like an eternity before her ears were struck with an odd, quiet, and entirely out-of-place laugh.

She looked up to find him in full grin, his body slightly curled in on itself the way it tended to do when he’d found something particularly amusing.  A strange thing. One she’d already seen enough times to recognize and one that most certainly didn’t belong. Her brow furrowed as she looked at him both bewildered and cautiously offended, skeptical anger building at the prospect of being mocked.  But he unfurled and pulled back from it with palms raised to either side of himself, his features taking on what seemed like his best imitation of an innocent man—a false admission in a fake scenario on his tongue.

“Ah, alright... fair enough.”

There was no explanation for the words and her eyes locked on him as she began to lower the cup and her lips pressed into a thin, displeased line.  But something felt off about it—the pause, the way his eyes flitted over her features quickly. It seemed like he was waiting until he had her full attention before he went on with a disappointed shake of his head that was far too deliberate to be even remotely true.

“Caught me tryin’ to get a closer look at that fancy Vishkar tech, ey?”

It was humor.  She ought to have guessed… if not due to his general tendency toward it, then toward the fact that he seemed particularly keen on deploying it to her.  

The pad of her index finger rubbed over the surface of the cup as she looked at him, watched his grin thoughtfully, and hesitated over the decision to take the bait or not.  The lingering irritation from the shock itself and then his supposed-reaction to it suggested ‘no’. Stubbornly, and with irritation toward her own emotions, she chose ‘yes’.  Her tongue still pondered over it and returned the words more carefully and with less enthusiasm.

“Careful, or I’ll have to give you a much closer look than you would like.”

His display of thruthfulness went away immediately as his eyes lit and his grin broadened with it as he watched her with an eye narrowed inquisitively.

“You implyin’ it’s dangerous?”

“I’m  _ assuring. _ ”

It wasn’t a threat and she knew it, but she wasn’t entirely sure what it was.  Somehow despite everything it snuck itself between the spaces of a taunt and playfulness, unthinking and careless.

“Oi now be careful, love.  Like I said, that’s me only cup.”

“You are aware that you could simply purchase more, yes?”

He leaned back and took a gold bar from a cubby it had been tucked in on the bench, holding it casually in one hand.

“Dunno how I’d manage to afford that, darl’.  Looks like we’re sharin’.”

He was reduced to a brief bout of snickering laughter, his eyes closed, leaving her free to do as she wished.  She still held the cup at its position near her mouth—the taste of the tea inside a thankful afterthought—and her lips curled in a quiet smile behind it.  

The physical sensation of the shock was slipping slightly from her memory.  Whatever lines were there she had forgotten them either in her relief or his antics, the tit-for-tat, and she supposed the two were most likely related.  And when his laughter finally finished he lifted his head with a deeper breath and a certain kind of look to him… bright-eyed, grinning once again, this time to no one in particular, no doubt amused at some internal thought.  It was an expression she imagined he might have often.

The thought stuttered to a halt. 

She didn’t know when it had happened, really—the growing, easy familiarity that she’d begun to recognize—but it wasn’t something she ought to allow dig any deeper.  So she would make it easy to remember: he was a criminal and a convenience and nothing more, the provider of a safe place to recover in. His general mood toward her didn’t hurt.  Good-natured but above all respectful, or at least since the last time when she made it perfectly clear what their roles were. It was… unexpected. But nothing worth musing over. And if he was a conversation partner to help pass the time while the world outside calmed she supposed there was nothing wrong with that, either.  It was certainly a good distraction.

Regardless, she couldn’t deny that the humor had helped, both against the memory of the shock and the earlier awkwardness.  

They had both relaxed slightly in their chairs, herself simply allowing her back and shoulders to lose their tension and him leaning fully back, his leg splayed forward and crossed over the peg-leg at the would-be ankle.  His left hand dangled easily under the weight of gravity, the elbow on the arm of the chair, and his prosthetic hand still lazily held the gold bar. Something about the pose seemed as if it put him on display; her eyes skirted over his abdomen and chest as quickly as they could.

She shook her head, hoping to clear herself from the strands of confusion that had begun weaving themselves into her thoughts, and she immediately uttered a quiet ‘ah’ of surprise and pain as another shock ran its way up her arm, the now-sensitive skin at her bicep tingling after in protest.

There was no joke this time.  Only silence for a beat of time before it was clear she didn’t intend to either move or say anything, her mind still swimming in the fresh memory of the shock and her skin till tingling in that distinct type of pain.  And then there was him clearing his throat, leaning slightly closer in his chair, the casual pose entirely gone.

She didn’t raise her eyes but the lower half of his face was still visible and she could easily recognize the more obvious concern—the way his teeth were gritted in a wincing, hesitant expression meant to be that same insistent smile, unsuccessful and unconvincing.  His fingers curled loosely inward so that he could point tentatively toward her prosthetic and his opposite hand pulled slightly upward toward his chest, all in a manner that suggested he was asking against his better judgment.

“... you sure you don’t want me to give it a once-over?”  

It took most of her patience to even allow him to finish the question but she went through with the words anyway with her jaw taut and her voice terse because of it.

“Yes.  It’s really fine.”

“Mm.”

She could hear the doubt in the sound and if it were any more severe she might have commented on it but he didn’t press the point.  She took a deep breath to try to shake herself of it and released it carefully through her nostrils, her eyes briefly slipping closed.  

She heard his voice meandering cautiously into her ears.

“Anyhow… maybe I oughta spruce up the place.  Get meself a… a jukebox or somethin’. Tidy up a bit.”  

She blinked despite herself and raised her eyes to him, a crease on her brow as she marvelled over the idea of it.  It was harder to tell if he was serious with the quieter tone she’d forced the conversation into. She wasn’t sure how to take it.  She settled for bemusement.

“Are you planning to bring in more company?”

“How’zat?”

The look she gave him was flat and her voice was matter-of-fact.

“Additional hostages.”

He laughed, at first.  It was a loud, amused burst followed by their eyes meeting, and after a few seconds of the unintentional showdown he blinked, apparently taken aback.

“Oh.”  He didn’t seem to know what to do with it; his brow furrowed as he looked at her, somewhere between puzzled and concerned.  “You serious?”

She answered only with that raised eyebrow that nonetheless made her answer clear.

“That ain’t my business, darl’.”

Her gaze became more pointed as she focused it on him with a single narrowed eye and an incredulous, lilting tone.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to beg to differ.”

He had clearly forgotten, somehow, that she was a direct contradiction.  The pause as he stared at her was full, racing thoughts she felt as if she could hear the rush of, and he sat a bit more straight in the chair with widening eyes, starting abruptly.

“Well, ok, but—”

She had no intention of letting him off easy; she had no intention of letting him finish his rebuttal.

“Do I need to provide evidence?”

He was hit by a deeply awkward and nervous laugh.

“That really ain’t necessary—”

“Exhibit A.”

“Look—”

“Exhibits B and C.”

He’d grown increasingly off-balance; the words seemed as if they had left him reeling, and it was pleasing being on the other side of the equation—watching him attempt to pivot, lose his footing, and fall once again.

“A’right!  A’right.”  

He didn’t wait for another attack and rather began counting off on his prosthetic fingers, still holding the gold bar, counting around it.

“Mexico, cops caught wind of us yeah?  Had ‘ta blow up the bank and run.”

He paused and Interrupted himself briefly, eyes suddenly lit with excitement.

“Ooh!  Like that one in Sydney, ‘member that?”  

It was asked as if she’d been there, or knew about it more than her shallow knowledge from the news.    She wrinkled her nose with one eye narrowed as she followed his expression, one that meandered between dreamy and wistful.  It continued for a moment before he shook his head, moving on to the next finger.

“Rio…”  He abruptly stopped counting, blinked, and stared down at his finger as if he’d just realized Rio had only been the second incident and pressed his lips together, his eyes narrowing in thought.  

“Oh!  Right.”  

It took a moment before he seemed to remember in full.  

“Oh.  Right.”

The air changed immediately: his spine curved forward slightly and his shoulders pulled subtly in toward themselves as he cleared his throat carefully with a vague gesture of his free hand.

“A’right, Rio was…”  The uneasiness grew but more noticeable was the guilt seeping into the edges of it as he went on.

“Didn’t  _ mean _ to.  Not really.”

Satya fixed him with a dubious, narrowed eye, and unable to let it go without question she pushed back.

“And yet you managed, somehow.”

He sat up straight with the accusation, his eyes widening and his palm held out to her in an appeasing gesture—the prosthetic fingers crimping more tightly against the gold bar—and tried again, clearly needing to be understood.

“Look, maybe I thought about it.”

It was a stark enough admission that it took her aback and he must have caught the shocked stare; he tried to defend himself again.

“What I mean is I just read all ‘a that stuff about ya!  Thought it might be good for a chin-wag. I reckoned we could team up, get the job done, maybe hit the town or have a nice cuppa back at the hideout.”

“I still don’t understand why on earth you’d think I’d want to help you.”

His defense wavered and his eyes flitted over the ground as if it might find the answer, his voice oddly hurt.  Confused. She didn’t think it was directed toward her.

“Made sense at the time…”

For a moment it looked like he wanted to say more.  He moved on instead with another shake of himself.

“Point is, I changed me mind.”  Apparently unable to contain something his prosthetic fingers twitched, the thumb rubbing compulsively, worrying over the edge of the gold bar as he went on.  

“Remembered you seemed about happy as a tin ‘a worms gon’ fishing in Mexico so I reckoned it was a bad idea.  Decided to keep you out’ve it.” Apparently knowing she’d have something to say about it he made an amendment.  “Aside from the actual job, I mean.”

She fixed him with a dry, disapproving look and was clear that he immediately understood it—or perhaps, she realized, he had already expected it.

“... I  _ really _ wanted that diamond, love.”

It wasn’t said like an excuse, oddly enough.  In fact, it sounded more like an admission of guilt.  A weary one, at that.

“Then things went tits up, plan fell to pieces.”

“And thus, you didn’t mean to take me hostage.”

He chanced a look up toward her, his eyes briefly sweeping over her features.

“‘Strewth, darl.”

The word wasn’t familiar but the meaning was obvious.

“Mm.”  She paused but still watched him closely.  Still… she believed him. She considered him long enough that his eyes flitted elsewhere uneasily and she tipped her head gently to the side, her voice sardonic but light.

“Plans seem to go wrong for you often.”

She wondered if he could even help the giggle that seeped from him despite the lower mood and he reached out with entirely expected, tentative humor.

“Turns out you  _ are _ learnin’ too many of our secrets.”

Something seemed like it had broken.  She followed the lead.

“If you so much as consider blindfolding me…”

“Christ no, love.  Wouldn’t dream it.”

The humor faded at its own pace and after a beat of silence was followed by his low, resigned tone, perfectly clear despite the quiet of it, his eyes on the floor once again.

“And now ‘ere we are.”

_ That _ he didn’t elaborate on.  Whatever plan he’d had—whatever plan  _ she’d  _ had for a simple, routine day, working security had most certainly gone ‘tits up’.

There was a moment after the words in which he glanced over her in a strange, uncertain way—a look that seemed as if it were gauging permission to express the sentiment, as if he were worried that even addressing it head-on might break something irreparably.  The words were uneasy.

“Point is it an’t exactly my typical business.”  He shifted uncomfortably, sinking back into the back of the chair.  

“Look...I know I’m gettin’ the better end of the deal ‘ere, but it’s nice havin’…”   His hand gestured weakly, hapless in its attempt to help him find the right words. “… bein’ able to have a chat with somebody.  Roadie’s not exactly much in that department.”

She had absolutely no idea how to respond despite the slight, strange catch in her chest and a silence fell, part uncomfortable and part soft.  She wasn’t sure she liked either part of it. She recalled the cup in her hand and set it on the bench, tired of holding it and having no interest in the watery, cold liquid inside anyway and she took a deep breath, releasing it as a sigh as she looked at him and tried to keep her tone even lest she give the game away.

“Well, I should really be compensated for all the trouble.”

He blinked out of the daze he’d fallen into, off guard and confused and most certainly not understanding what she was talking about.

“Compensated?”  His eyes flitted over her, uncertain, but he pushed ahead with tentative humor anyway.  “Squarin’ off ain’t enough?”

“I’m assuming that’s apologizing.  For being taken hostage. Multiple times.”

“Ah… righto.”

The clarification brought a sheepish, apologetic grin to his lips and while he was certainly no less repentanit seemed being reminded of it didn’t cause the earlier, severely anxious response.  It still took him a moment to fully understand and he sat up straighter as his mind mulled over it, puzzling before he finally glanced around himself.

“Well… what’re we talkin’ ‘ere?  Gold? Diamonds?”

“Mm.”  It was a thoughtful sound.  Her eyes had caught on the gold bar in his hand and she reached for it and grasped the untouched portion gently with her own fingertips.  It was taken from him just as casually as he had pulled it from the bench; it slipped from his fingers with remarkable ease, the metal hand letting it go without question.  She pulled it toward herself and turned it over in her hands without much interest as his voice came to her again.

“I’m warnin’ ya, I’m ace at haggling.”  

She lifted her eyes to find him grinning broadly and she raised an eyebrow, offering him a look of disapproval.

“Haggling?”  Her tone, however challenging, didn’t so much as put a chip in his grin.  She hoped the words would. ”I think I’ve earned about everything you can offer, all things considered.”  

They did cause the grin to falter, but it wasn’t how she’d expected.

The laughter started out normally—his high, amused giggle—but quickly changed, morphed into something faint and stuttering despite his clear effort to suppress it.  The hand that had been holding the gold bar curled near his chest in a way that same strange manner that was both defensive and hesitant, and his attempt to make his voice sound casual only made the nervousness under it all the more obvious.

“Well… I think I got _ — _ ”  

He stopped abruptly before starting over, firmly paving over the previous attempt as if it had never happened.  

“I mean, I reckon there’s more that…”

He blinked, staring at her.  She returned the look blankly, puzzled, and he cleared his throat.  And then he gave up on whatever he’d been trying to say, dropping the response entirely, and rushed through something else instead, his brow furrowed in residual apprehension.

“You want another cuppa?”

The question was a bit high pitched and strained—and more importantly out of place—and she narrowed an eye suspiciously as she watched him, her hand still idle on the gold bar.

“I don’t think another cup of tea would really make up for it.”  

But she was already squinting, realizing she was missing something.  His eyes flitted away, making a pointed effort of avoiding her as he uttered yet another small laugh and tried to backtrack, his voice escaping as an inconfident mumble.

“I was offerin’ it more like a bonus...”

“No… no I think I’m fine…”  She raised an eyebrow gently as she leaned slightly to the side over the workbench, attempting to enter his field of view, curious as to the response she might get.  “I believe that means the cup is free if you—”

It must have been something to do with the gold bar held carelessly in her prosthetic hand, or the way her body angled over it as she tried to reach him, or it truly didn’t matter what; it sent that same feeling piercing through her nerves and up her arm.  And it ought to have been familiar, the jagged edge of pain that it brought, but it felt worse than all of those before it and it radiated further into her body: the electric, burning sensation darting through her bicep and shoulder before pulling roughly on the nerves of her back and up her neck.  It felt as if it pulled the muscles of her chest taut, though she couldn’t be sure if it was a reality or not, and she froze, his strange behavior forgotten, everything still an aftershock of that distinctive bolt of electricity-borne pain.  

At some point she had dropped the gold bar.  She wasn’t even sure when—the thud should have given it away.

She missed it at first in her unfocused, forward stare but he came into view in the edges of her vision all the same.  His features were slightly pinched and as her eyes flicked to his face it seemed he was trying not to say anything, but it ended with a twitch and a small look of pain as if he himself had been electrocuted.

“I really think I shou—”

“Yes.  Please.”

Whatever her reservations in letting him look over the prosthetic the repeated, unexpected jolts far outweighed them.

“You wanna take it off?”

“No.”  

“A’right.  Never know what happens when ya cross wires.”

“Don’t cross them, then.”  

It was too brisk.  Too short. And utterly ungrateful.  It displayed an irritation that she immediately regretted and she took in a deep breath to facilitate a similarly deep sigh—a frustrated, exhausted sound that did absolutely nothing to dull her tone even if the feeling of apology was there.

“I’m sorry.”

“No worries.  Can’t blame ya.”  

His agreeability made it easier; she lifted her prosthetic arm defiantly and set it on the bench in front of her within his reach, daring it to shock her in the process.  The movement went by without incident and she lifted herself, her spine straightening at the small victory.  

He straightened and scooted closer in the chair.  The armor was the first examination; he tugged a light closer, one of the ones lining the walls, and hooked it to the bench over a small, bent  piece of metal that jutted out of the wood. Once it was set on the bench the damage to her arm was clear... she hadn’t missed it in her earlier investigation, per se, but the angle and lighting had made it less obvious and it had been a shallow study—the electrical issues weren’t supposed to be a recurring problem.

In the brighter light and with her full attention it was easier to see: the armor of her gauntlet was crushed on a single plate, a near-perfect oval array of fractures.  She didn’t need the evidence to know it; it was indented where the thumb of his own prosthetic had pressed into it when he had caught her, fitting perfectly enough as to be a fingerprint.

“Ah, christ.”

It was a quiet curse, uttered as he lifted his metal hand, briefly examining his thumb as if gauging the size and shape of it and matching it to the indent.  It was unnecessary; it was obvious what the crack was from. She glanced to his face. His lips were in a thin line, exactly as she’d expected them to be, and she was taken aback that she’d had expectations at all.

His eyes darted to her with the apology.  

“Sorry, love.  The thing ain’t exactly delicate.”

“It’s likely better that it isn’t.” 

Had it been more delicate she might not be there anymore.  He caught the meaning. Both seemed happy to move past it.

His hand moved over the armor carefully and found the seam in the cracked plate, wedging it carefully apart from the others.  She didn’t even have the presence of mind to wonder how he seemed to know how to remove it. Perhaps it was simple natural mechanical acuity, or perhaps simple intuitive design.  But she could consider it later. The rush of trepidation overtook everything else.

Her earlier bravado was crushed with a pre-emptive wince of anticipation but the jab of pain didn’t come—the plate popped open and away and she exhaled a sigh of relief as it remained intact despite the damage—appearing to have dented and cracked squarely in the middle, leaving it as the only one that had taken any significant damage and leaving it still capable of not shattering.  ‘Lucky’ didn’t cover it. It was easy to see the damage, or at least the worst of it. Two wires stripped, likely from where they had scraped against the casing of her arm and another severely bent as if it had been pinched between two parts, nearly severed. The two exposing open wire, both in the same spot, and the third with the slightest exposed wire at the bend. She was somewhat surprised the arm was still functioning correctly at all.

He’d leaned back just enough to look at the bench beside him and take stock at the various materials—tools and wire included—and he took on a pensive look, brow furrowed as he considered what was needed out of the scattered offerings.  

It reminded her of where she was and what he would be working with.  Even with a simple fix… her eyes flitted from him to the disorganized workbench and the parts strewn beside and behind him and sudden doubts started to grow in her.  By the time he’d collected what he needed and lowered his eyes back to her prosthetic, despite her attempt to keep herself stoic she could feel the way her voice rose ever-so-slightly with it, betraying the depth of the feeling behind it, and the quiet licks of distress caused her fingers to twitch.

“How much, precisely, do you know about electronics?”

He uttered a quiet snort of amusement, no doubt at his own reply.

“More than I know about takin’ people hostage.”

It was good-natured.  She knew as much just from the tone of it.  It was likely an attempt to make her laugh, and though she tried to comply all that would come was a quiet huff of air, a sound that stubbornly held onto that subtle air of apprehension.  And he must have noticed, because she could see the way his forehead wrinkled before he raised his eyes to her and seemed to reconsider his response, his chin tipping to the side before he answered.

“Not exactly a precise measurement, but I reckon I know a decent amount.”  

She nearly missed the close look he gave her, narrowed vision pointed directly at her, only briefly but long enough for her to feel uncomfortable.  It was intimidating. But he looked away soon enough and she was left to catch her breath, her eyes pointed downward on the exposed inner workings and a faint frown on her face.  His voice came through, lightweight.

“No worries, love, I’ll sort it.  We’ll leave the fancy stuff up to your Vishkar techs.”  His raised finger hesitated before tapping lightly at the blue disc on her palm and he paused to make the point, glancing up to her.  “I got no interest messin’ around with that, trust me.”

It was casual, as was his voice.  It occurred to her that he might be taking shots blindly in the dark to assuage whatever her particular fears were without knowing them.

It was a brave attempt at humor and to some degree it paid off.  Her mind switched from her arm to him long enough for one weak, low laugh.

“And here I thought that was the whole point.”

It encouraged him if the tooth-exposing smile was any indication.  His eyes lowered back to the arm, pleased half-moons nearly out of her field of view as he dropped his chin and squared his shoulders in a way that suggested he was settling in to work.  She watched him poke at a wire with a wire cutter just briefly before he lowered his head, his unruly hair thankfully blocking most of it from her view, and his voice drifted up all the same.

“Tell ya what, I’ll take your arm when I think I can get away with it, even with you bein’ without it.”

It was easier with the arm out of sight and despite herself she tipped her head to the side, her lips quirking upward from insistent bewilderment as she replied.

“Why?”

“Cause I reckon you’d chase me down and hit me with it.”

The sound that escaped her was not quite a laugh, but close enough to one that she would have to give him credit.  It flared her nostrils and she wrinkled her nose in thought, not at all certain she had the answer.

“Because of your leg?”

“Nah.  I got a feelin’ if you want somethin’ you’ll find a way to get it.”

She had expected more humor, not a compliment.  She rewarded him with a faint and slightly breathless chuckle; she could see one of his eyebrows arch higher than the other and was actually regretful she couldn’t see his expression.

With her prosthetic hand angled upward on the bench his own moved efficiently but surprisingly carefully.  He had myriad wires—left over from one project or another no doubt—and he pulled back once or twice to clip them, interchanging colors in a way that—in the brief instances where she caught glimpses of the repair—lost her entirely.  It was messy, but there were no shocks, and after a moment she averted her eyes. She’d been able to forget it in her apprehension, but having the arm fully exposed left her feeling bare and open, beyond literally. It was something like surgery and it made her uncomfortable; she opted to look elsewhere instead.   

His work and her lingering uneasiness left the place in a quiet that she didn’t enjoy, a still-novel thing while he was sharing the room.  And although it may have been better that she left him alone while he was working the thought didn’t even cross her mind.

“How’s Mako?”

“He’ll be right.  The mug coulda had the whole building fall on ‘im and he’d make it through right.”

She could hear it the grin in his voice.  There was a unique sort of fondness there and she smirked against it with a gently lofted eyebrow and a wry tone to her voice.

“I’m glad it didn’t come to that.  Ideally I like to avoid…”  

Her mind faltered over the word and her voice trailed to a halt.  Friends. What a ridiculous idea. Her confusion from earlier had set in and she set it right, firmly.  

“I’d prefer not to see anyone crushed by anything.”

He didn’t seem to have noticed.  He was snickering instead, regaining himself and distracted by the work.  It was unfortunate that his bent posture allowed her eyes to move smoothly over his shoulders and down his shoulderblades, her vision ending at the curve of his back.  It wasn’t the musculature or the gentle pattern of freckles that had distracted her earlier but the deep, fast-blooming bruises scattering his skin, sprouting patches of darkening color.

It wasn’t as if she’d forgotten but perhaps she’d been able to not think about it.  The topic may have forced her eyes back into focus. She did her best to try to make it sound carefree and taunting like it had been before.

“How much do you suppose fell on you?  One-quarter? One-third?”

“If we’re gonna go playin’ generous why not go ahead for the whole kit ‘n kaboodle?” 

It was humor, as expected.  And while she’d begun to realize she typically preferred it to his earnestness it was suddenly unsatisfying.  But she tried to play along in the hopes that he might somehow pick up on her meaning on his own and she was having a difficult time of it.

“Let’s settle for 99%.”

“Fair enough.”

“I appreciate it.  Not all of the debris falling on you...”

“You sure about that?”  

She pushed a breath of air out through her nostrils in a loud huff.  He was making it harder.

“I’m trying to say thank you.”

He met it with a casual, carefree shrug, the entirety of his attention holding stubbornly to her arm, not so much as glancing up to her.

“Wasn’t exactly a hard choice.”

It was a statement that he simply  _ said _ , unfiltered, and moved along.  Her brow furrowed as her mind clung to it stubbornly as she tried to shake it off.

She didn’t like it.  His reply or a great deal of confusing things; they were distracting.  She liked to think it was the fact that she was allowing him to look so closely at her arm—at classified Vishkar tech, she reminded herself—that caused the small, whispering voice of discomfort in the back of her mind, or even just the feeling of vulnerability that came with having it so open.  It most definitely had nothing to do with the words, so easily glossed over.  _ Wasn’t exactly a hard choice. _

He’d made it sound so inconsequential.  As if risking—

Absolutely not.  She wouldn’t let her mind phrase it that way.  And she hated the fact that after saying it he didn’t let a single second idle, rather his attention had simply returned to the task at hand.   _ She _ was the one whose thoughts stuck on it.

Vishkar should never have started branching out into security.

It might have been some intentional attempt to gauge his progress or it might have been some idle thing to distract her mind, she couldn’t say, but she attempted to wiggle the prosthetic fingers, to curl them toward her palm.  The shock returned, just as surprising as it had been the first time, and while she pulled in a reflexive gasp against the pain it came with she wasn’t given the chance to try to recover from it.

He had raised his head and his eyes to her with a look of admonishment—a strange thing to see from him.  It was exaggerated but only slightly, and the underlying feeling seemed genuine all the same. He raised an eyebrow, looking up at her with a warning.

“Am I gonna have to hold ya down?”

It was in jest, or it was meant to be.  There was a sense that he hadn’t at all thought it through or perhaps even—if circumstances were different—thought it would have been a completely harmless bit of humor.  But she realized very suddenly it was much like her arm; ever since running into him in his state of near-undress everything had become increasingly sensitive, had caused a shock with each careless use of words.

There was a deep silence as they looked at each other and the moment lasted agonizingly long.  She felt too… something. ’Stunned’ wasn’t the correct word, nor was ‘numb’, but something too much for her to look away before he did.  He dissolved into a series of jittery laughs, his hands still where they ought to be at her arm but his fingers gripped a bit more tightly inward against the tools he held.  His eyes were evasive and she watched as his chest rose with a breath and hers did the same. For a moment it looked as if he was going to say something but his teeth snapped shut again over a shaky laugh and his stare darted hastily down back to his work.  

“Hang on, ey?  Nearly done.”

It took very little time before he was finished and maybe he made a point of not letting himself linger.  He pulled away fully, setting the wire cutters and remaining bits and pieces of scrap wire down on the bench, the distance allowing her to better see the handiwork.  It seemed so minor once complete, nothing but patched wires, but further wondering was cut off by his voice.

“Oughta be fine, now.  Give it a bash.”

She looked up at him with a blank stare, not entirely understanding, and he cleared his throat against it with a still-unsteady and nervous-sounding voice as his eyes darted to the side once again.

“Er… give it a try.”

The words were nearly enough to make her forget everything else.  She lifted her prosthetic arm from the bench, tentative and wincing in preparation for a shock, but received none.  Lest something surprise her she went through the movements she had before, the ones that had triggered painful electric responses, but none came.  Her lips curled in a satisfied smile as she rolled her fingers in sequence.

Contented, she turned her attention back to him.  His eyes were lit in tentative slight self-satisfaction, and while he gave her a grin it was still a bit weak.  In recovery, no doubt… it jarred her memory as well. But it was easy to forget when he plucked the bit of armor from the bench and held it carefully between thumb and forefinger, an eyebrow raised in a look of slowly-regaining confidence.  It was clearly meant for her to take.

“Can’t forget the  _ pièce de résistance _ .”  

It was profoundly gratifying for some reason, that he had offered it to her.  She raised an eyebrow in mirror of his expression as she took the plate of armor from his hand and pulled it to herself, pressing it carefully against her forearm in the empty slot until it emitted a gentle ‘click’ and slid back into place, still dented, still cracked, but entirely, perfectly functional.

She raised it, splaying fingers to test their agility before a sudden thought struck her and her hands joined in front of her chest quickly to bring a small teardrop of light into existence, and she snuffed it out with a deep sigh of relief.

Whatever tension or anxiety that had worked its way into her muscles was gone, replaced by the simple entrancement of rolling her fingertips over her palm before she paused, suddenly realizing something.  Her eyes shifted to him with a faint, sardonic smile.

“Well done.”  

She’d meant for her tone to convey that same good-humored taunt but it sounded far too… superior.  Like a teacher addressing a student. She shook her head to clear it and tried again more genuinely, something that indicated true gratitude that verged on deep relief—perhaps a bit too far in the other direction.  

“Thank you.”  

His features brightened with a broad grin despite his shrug, waving it away.  

“Sure thing darl’.  Better than watchin’ you get zapped every 20 seconds.”

She laughed, fueled mostly by relief.. 

“Well enough to suffice until I get back to Vishkar, at any rate.”

There was a hint of wryness to it—it was meant to merely be playful and it seemed he took it that way at first in the form of a bright-eyed smile.  But it faltered in a look of confusion before it turned into gritted teeth that tried to maintain that pleasant expression without much success. She didn’t have time to ask—he was already moving as if he wanted to leave it behind.

“Speakin’ of…”

He stood up, his thumb flicking the knob of the scanner above the bench.  It brought a series of quiet voices to life in the room but it also brought about his change in position—it was another view of him, still too close.  Worse, his form dominated her field of view and because he was paying her no attention it left her the option of taking in whatever she liked, with as much detail as she liked.  She tried to keep her mind as blank as possible.

She’d heard nothing so much as a word from the scanner but it must have been unpromising; he turned it off with a sigh and dropped heavily back into his chair and the reappearance of his face was abrupt enough as to almost make her jump.  He was pinching the bridge of his nose in a way that made him look weary. It was unnecessary, but she said it anyway.

“Nothing good.”

“Christ.  I am sorry, love.”

She was forced to shake her head to catch up but her mind caught on the apology.

“It’s not as if it’s your fault.”

“Yeah, but I dunno what it’s all on about.  Absolutely bad luck.”

For him, maybe.  For her… she would have been there anyway.

He may have had the same thought.  His eyes flicked to her and their gazes met, both of them troubled.

And if she’d been near the closet… well.

A deep crease began to form on her brow.  It was all so profoundly troubling to have some other criminals on the loose.  Some group that was unknown. Some very well armed—and therefore, she suddenly realized, most likely well-funded—group.  And one that seemed intent on… what, exactly? It certainly didn’t seem like they cared much about art.

She cast a quick glance toward Jamie, who seemed to be staring off into nothing with a deeply furrowed brow of his own, his thoughts no doubt similarly wandering.  The junkers were so unlike… well. Whatever they’d just encountered, but even unlike the way they had seemed the first two times she’d run into them.

She’d seen it moreso during her second ‘visit’—the more vulnerable and strangely more fearful version of Jamie.  The much more hidden but still very much present kindness of Mako.

In a way it was also disconcerting how concerned the junkers seemed to be with her wellbeing.  Even from the beginning, she supposed… in their own way... but far more apparent now. The effort was more exposed.  Entirely unhidden, actually.

A part of her suggested she ought not be quite so accepting of them as a source of comfort.  A greater part of her was simply grateful at how much they had provided.

But while some of her basic needs had been met, others were beginning to crawl their way into her consciousness.  She was exhausted, truly. No doubt the spike of adrenaline had lent a hand to the crash, but everything that had occurred was exhausting in itself.  With the threat of being shocked gone she noticed more easily the feeling of heaviness in her limbs and she lifted her eyes to glance over the room again, having trouble keeping it in her mind. 

“Perhaps instead of another cup of tea you could find me somewhere to lie down?”  Her eyes flitted toward him.

“Ey?”

She’d pulled him out of his thoughts too quickly; he didn’t understand.

“Somewhere to lie down.  To sleep for a bit. If you don’t mind.”

His eyes began to dart over the room with the first inklings of comprehension and her lips quirked, attempting tired humor.  

“Or do I need to haggle for that?”

It brought him to full attention.  His eyes shot wide, concerned, as if he thought she were being serious.

“Christ no, love, ‘course not.”  And he was immediately to the task, pushing himself to his feet as he spoke, shuffling away from the workbench past her and out of her field of view.  “I dunno if… we got a chair. Comfortable enough.”

She followed him with her eyes and it was there, true to his statement: a pile of blankets that looked warm enough were sitting on a ragged recliner chair.  It was wedged into a small space in a corner and looked like it got plenty of use and she realized, glancing at him, that it could very well be his main means of getting sleep.  It was intact, at least. They had so much money, or treasure, perhaps more accurately, and yet here they were. There were corners of the world they could retreat to and simply live rich if they didn’t insist on being so high-profile.  It was odd. Or maybe they couldn’t simply hide anymore.

 She glanced to a pile of golden coins gleaming in the corner and her forehead wrinkled at the sight of a diamond lying carelessly upon it, looking as though it had been tossed there with disinterest.   _ The _ diamond.

He had been moving while her mind was elsewhere and she shook her head, taking a quick breath to wake herself up.  The wince in his expression was easy to see as he paused in front of the chair, staring at it blankly as if not even certain what to do, and then made a brief attempt to make it look more presentable to absolutely no effect.  Even from the distance she could hear the mutter under his breath, no matter how low it was.

“Christ.  Maybe I should make the place nice for company.”  It sounded like a joke… sort of. It would be moreso if he seemed less distressed about it.

Once the thought had come to her she realized how tired she truly was and the chair would simply have to do.  It was ragged, perhaps, but the fabric was all still intact and the cushioning looked suitable and the blankets… well.  She might not be utilizing those.

She stood up and began fruitlessly brushing her clothing smooth having forgotten the absolute mess of it, following after just as she heard him mutter.

“Sorry, darl’.  Haven’t got anything nicer.”  The tone was reminiscent of when he’d come back without any different types of tea and she frowned, glancing at him.  

“It’s alright.  Truly.”  

It took a pointed stare before he seemed even remotely convinced and he backed away with an attempt at a smile that was too crooked to entirely work, a gold tooth showing in an uneasy curl of his lips, his voice quieter as if she were already attempting to fall asleep.

“Yeah.  A’right, then.”

Once her mind settled on it it was easy to accept it as her best option and she sat, subtly testing the cushioning and finding it satisfactory enough.  She curled up with her back turned toward him, her head nestling into the chair where the arm met the side and her arms wrapped over her stomach. She opted for a blanket after all, draping it over the bare skin of her shoulders  Soon enough the small, carefully muted sounds in the background—the occasional hiss of a sautering iron, small clinks of metal on metal when his hands were too careless—made for an odd soundtrack but an assuring one nonetheless; she was not alone, and that itself was a greater comfort than she would have ever guessed.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The floor was falling away from her.

She recognized the feeling now, the drop in her stomach and the sudden sensation of lightness under her feet, but it felt muted somehow, slow but sending those same vibrations through her nerves.  And she was there, she knew—she could feel herself there, and if she tried hard enough she could see herself, her own body filling the space as the floor below her simply disappeared.

It wasn’t a feeling of panic but one of resignation and quiet curiosity; the sluggish movement of blood through her veins and thoughts through her head that left the end result feeling like a foregone conclusion.  And while she knew the satisfaction of her curiosity would be gratifying she also knew there was a cost to it, one she recognized as her fingertips came into view, her hand after, her arm outstretched for something, she wasn’t sure what.

And then there was a hand in the ashen air, reaching as if it knew exactly where she was and as its fingers curled around her forearm she came to a sudden stop, the world rushing back, every single sensation returning magnified from its absence and reverberating through her from the hand wrapped around her wrist.

Her eyes snapped open.

It hadn’t been a nightmare, not really.  Her heart still beat slow and steady and while in the dream had brought the events of earlier in the day back to life it had felt too vague.  It was the memory of it, true, but it felt nothing like it had, only flashbulb images seared into her mind without sound. But she was awake, regardless.

Maybe it was the silence that had roused her.  In the brief time she took to review the dream she realized that she was surrounded by quiet, and for a moment she didn’t know where she was.  She turned, shifting on the chair to look out into the room, and breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

Jamie was asleep, face down on the workbench, sprawled out on the surface right on top of what appeared to be miscellaneous bits of metal and wire.  He’d put on goggles at some point; they were still on his head, messily parting his hair, and both of his arms dangled over the side of the workbench, the prosthetic hand lifeless under gravity.  She wrinkled her nose as she looked at him. It couldn’t have possibly be comfortable, yet there he was. Perhaps exhaustion had simply gotten the better of him. Regardless, she couldn’t help the amused smirk, an expression that—were she to think about it any further—might have distressingly inched toward fondness.  

She stood, carefully folding the blanket over the seat cushion despite fully knowing it was a pointless gesture.  But it made her feel better; it wasn’t wasted.

 It seemed only natural that she be quiet; it seemed he had made the attempt as well.  From her spot near the chair she leaned farther to try to get a better look at him without much success, and after a glance around—focusing briefly on the space that served as a door—she pointed her feet toward him, careful to keep her steps light.  

His shoulders rose and fell in long, peaceful breaths only interrupted by the occasional, unconscious twitch paired with a small sound of irritation.  She could only assume he was dreaming. It suggested he was well and truly asleep and the fact made the idea of examining the space a much more confident one.  And after everything that had happened, despite her better judgment, she started with him.

It was unfortunate, really, that they had nearly run into one another earlier; it muddled her investigation with a skewed interest at first.  She observed the uneven, wild mess of sandy blond hair. The fresh dust on his cheeks, a streak of oil above his eyebrow. Freckles dotting his shoulders, a pattern more subtle as it moved across his cheeks before it was blocked from her view.  She could see his sharp nose pressed flatly into the surface in a way that looked atrociously uncomfortable. It drew a smirk from her, but the expression faltered as her eyes moved with more focus over his back and the bruises, deep and terrible, far more visible than they had been before.  Her eyes flicked away from them and she focused resolutely on the rest of his body instead.  

She’d paid little attention to his form in the past.  Aside from the fact that it wasn’t something she’d had much opportunity to do, upon further thought she also supposed she’d had no desire to do so.  But in the peace of the place her mind was hungry for things to memorize and with this she may not get another chance. She briefly noted the broadness of his shoulders and realized abruptly their muscled contours before following the line of his skin down his arm, or what there was of it before it disappeared behind the fastenings of his prosthetic.  The pattern of black ink sunk into his skin was of particular interest, something she’d barely even been able to look at at all despite the bold but slightly faded lines of it. Their up-close interactions had always been either too terse or too much of a blur for it.

She crouched at his side to better see it.  The theme was quite obvious and practically expected with the sticks of dynamite, the entirely unsurprising flames.  But her eyes fixated on it all the same and in the moment of inattentiveness she had lifted her fingers, the digits intending to trace a gentle line of the ink, but she realized it just before completing the disastrous action and recalled her hand with a silenced gasp.  Her eyes flitted upward to what she could see of his face as she steeled her nerves for the possible worst but he didn’t stir, and after a second—and a quiet breath of relief—the same confidence returned. It allowed her to drop her attention to the prosthetic instead.

A quick visual inspection of the rubber that provided the primary fastening made it clear that it was analog, similarly expected.  She took a moment to take it in as its whole. She would love to hold it. To dissect it, at least visually, three dimensionally, not this shallow, incomplete observation.  She risked the touch for reasons she did not know, curling her hand around the metal of the wrist in the lightest possible pressure and ran her thumb with more focus up along a plate of the metal. 

It was coarse.  The paint was sturdy, enough to keep out the rust, but it was no smooth job.  It likely didn’t need to be, particularly considering what seemed to be a frequent exposure to flame and other physical abrasives.  As if following the train of thought she noted to damage to it—the chips and the scrapes and even a dent or two—and couldn’t help but wonder how much of it was recent.  She set her mind against it and moved on.

The metal itself was something thick and very sturdy.  Heavy as a matter of fact. Iron, perhaps. It was distractingly weighty and she realized that perhaps that was the need for the muscle.

The cursory, limited look gave her little more information but despite the dissatisfaction of it she wasn’t willing to risk more.  A glance under the bench proved that the view of the peg leg would offer her little as well and so she pulled back with a near-silent huff of air.  It felt strangely like there wasn’t enough of him to examine, despite the fact that the entirety of him was there, and while still crouched she tipped her head to the side, raising her eyes.

It was unfortunate that it left her at the perfect height to be confronted by his abdomen.  Her eyes caught and stuck briefly until she managed to dislodge them, only for them to find another place to focus: the scratches in his skin, a set of darkened lines across his flesh.  Wishing to escape it she forced her eyes away only to have them catch the jut of his hip bones and the line of muscle above it curving down under his shorts.

_ That _ was more than enough.

She stood abruptly and took a quick, shallow breath for good measure, opting to leave him entirely lest he wake up, or lest she find more details to keep her attention.  There was no telling how long he’d be out, but she didn’t mind so long as there were things to examine.

Moving across the room provided her with the general setup and shape of the space.  It was disorganized in most ways—papers and notes in uneven piles in seemingly random places and of course the various treasures strewn carelessly about.  Pieces of what must have been incomplete projects shoved into corners. Nothing that demanded her immediate attention. But across the room she noted something more far more familiar: a small, three-tiered shelf contained a myriad of books, packed tightly into the limited space.

There was no longer any concern of her being caught examining Jamie or of Mako’s return and she moved smoothly across the room to the bookcase, stepping over the random items left on the floor carefully until the volumes were within reach.

They were manuals.  Most of them, at any rate.  Many of them seemed to reference various fields of engineering.  She reached up to run her finger along the options and her touch landed on what would seem the most obvious and she plucked the title from the shelf: Advanced Explosives Technique.

It was entirely unexpected; when she pulled it from the shelf to examine it she realized that it looked completely untouched.  A film of dust had embedded itself between the pages and she flipped through it briskly to find that the pages were stiff and pristine, suggesting it had indeed never even been fully opened.  Puzzlement formed a crease on her brow as she replaced it, opting for the manual on electric engineering next to it instead.

The wear was far more than what she had expected from the prior book.  The pages were dog-eared, the binding frayed, and the spine was bent outward with use.  The beginning of the book seemed to have been little used, but as she flipped through the middle revealed smudged fingerprints and a multitude of partially finished circuitry diagrams that looked as if someone had simply lost interest in the middle of a straight line and abandoned it.  There were drawings, occasionally. Little symbols in the margins, sometimes unclear but sometimes painfully obvious—a stick figure surrounded by lightning bolts, a stylized laughing face after underlined or circled text.

She quirked an eyebrow and flipped it closed, deciding on one more as she replaced it and took the final engineering book in hand.  Somehow it was even more defaced than the other, with similar doodles and scratchy text in the margins, comedic responses to the text itself.  Many of the diagrams given as reference had been altered as well to humorous effect; some of the symbols of the equations have been turned into drawings themselves.

Her nose wrinkled in amusement before she flipped the book shut with an air of finality and placed it back on the bookcase with a slow breath, released as a quiet sigh.  Her interest had moved abruptly on and her eyes did the same, flitting over Jamie to note his still-sleeping form before they skipped to the other corner of the room where a small table was tucked, half-hidden and impossible for her to have seen from her place near Jamie’s sleeping form.  There was something on it. Something bright and clean. Something pastel.

Satya tipped her head to the side in undeniable curiosity and passed with the same care and quiet back across the room toward the otherwise dark corner.  As she neared the form made itself much more clear, and yet her confusion wouldn’t budge as she lowered her hands to carefully—almost reverently—lift the object from the table.  It was a plush. A pachimari. And it was ridiculously soft between her fingers.

For a brief sliver of time she was frozen holding the thing, before her eyes moved back to Jamie with a sense of hopeless bafflement.

If there was a single thing she wouldn’t have expected to find there it was this.  The man passed out across the room did not at all seem to be the sort to keep something so…  _ adorable _ .  It was also meticulously clean, as though among everything it held a status of prestige.  It was surprising enough that she missed the presence of someone else until she heard the low, rumbling grunt that must have been the mangled sound of the large man clearing his throat.

Mako was there in the room and she had no idea when he’d arrived, but she’d assumed he hadn’t been there long.  He was motionless but the eyes of his mask and the angle of his body pointed directly toward her.

There was a strange air to him that she didn’t recall having experienced in some time—not intimidating, but certainly firm, and perhaps it was by reflex but she’d lifted the pachimari plush and held it guiltily at arms’ length as if it were someone else’s child.  Perhaps it had been the right thing to do given the way the large junker began to take plodding steps toward her in a way that was briefly intimidating. But he stopped, just out of reach, and raised a massive palm upward in a clear sign of request.

Carefully, slowly, and with no less confusion she reached forward and placed the pachimari gingerly in Mako’s extended hand before withdrawing.  The eyes of his mask didn’t leave her until he had pulled the plush back to his body, and only once it was held against his chest did he lower the eyes of his mask to it and fold his other hand over it in a way that could only be described as protective.  

He turned before she could find her voice and lumbered toward the book case she’d been at moments before and pushed some of the slimmer books farther in, leaving an indent of space on the shelf large enough to place the plush.  Once settled the large man double-checked to make sure it was solidly where it belonged, and an inexplicably fond pat of his large hand to the top of it caused the plush to emit a high-pitched squeak.

Even if she’d been perfectly at ease the way Jamie jolted up straight in his seat would have been enough to cause her to jump; as it was, she mostly stifled the sound of surprise as his eyes snapped open and his body went rigid in obvious shock, nonsensical words immediately pouring loudly from his mouth.

“—‘s not what it looks like!”

His body had jerked backward nearly sending him to the floor, but instead he swayed uneasily before raising the ball of his palm to his eyes, pressing it there for a to try to help orient himself and giving his head a shake as he dropped it and his gaze finally focused on the two of them..

“Shit—wait.”

Both of them stared at him in silence as he tried to regain himself and he looked between the two of them rapidly, then at Mako.

“I fall asleep?”

Mako uttered a loud, accusing grunt and hooked a thumb to point toward Satya.  

“You were supposed to watch her.”

Jamie gave him a deep breath released in a sigh that in any other person might seem exaggerated.  With him she wasn’t sure. “C’mon, Roadie. Give it a rest, yeah?”

The mask muffled a low and raspy sound, a deep, brief laugh that she might go so far as to call pleasant in its novelty.  She wouldn’t have expected it. It brought a curious smile to her lips just as the large man looked to her and turned his head toward the chair and the blanket there, carefully folded.  She assumed that must have been what tipped him off.

“You sleep alright?”

It took her a second to realize he was talking to her.  The large hulk of the man had swiveled his head back in her direction and his voice was no softer than it had ever been but the words themselves were shockingly kind.  Enough so that it took her a second to nod stiffly in reply.

“… yes.  Well enough.  Thank you.”

He nodded.

Jamie, for his part, still seemed to be trying to calm his nerves.  His hand dragged back through his hair hard enough that the skin of his forehead was pulled taut with it.  It dislodged the goggles atop his head and for a moment they were lodged between his fingers before he irritably shook them onto the workbench, freed.  There were indents on the skin of his cheek from some of the miscellaneous parts he’d slumped face-down on and her nose wrinkled in a grudgingly amused smirk.  Given more impetus it could have eventually evolved into a laugh.

“And to think the two of  you are internationally wanted criminals.”  Her voice was mystified but sardonic all the same, a true statement but meant as a benign taunt.

Jamie had resorted to sitting in the chair, backwards, arm dangling lazily over the side, and he gave her a raised eyebrow of his own.

“That surprisin’?”

“Well, I suppose not the criminal part.  Moreso how you’re still on the loose.” She tipped her chin as she looked at him, an eyebrow raised with the reprimand.  “Your approach to keeping hostages is frankly atrocious. I could have walked out whenever I pleased.”

He fixed her with a look of faux annoyance and a firmness that she couldn’t believe if she tried, even with the way he pointed a metal finger at her sternly.  

“Oi now, you leave all that to us.  We got our methods an’ you can stay out of ‘em.”  

Her lips curled in a smirk as she looked at him, murmuring her reply.

“I suppose you can’t argue with results.”

It drew a broad, pleased grin from him before it was interrupted with a yawn.

“How long d’ya reckon we were out?”

It began with an uneasy feeling in her stomach but grew rapidly and quickly overwhelmed her: a sense of dread and mild panic, and she knew her voice was forced quieter for it.

“Oh, gods…”

She’d forgotten entirely...

Time had seemed as if it had little meaning in the gently-lit confines of the hideout and she abruptly realized that she was likely thought of as missing’ possibly thought dead.  Aside from no one expecting her to be with the junkers—why would she be—if what they had said was correct no one had known Jamie and Mako had been there at all. To anyone else it would have seemed as if she had simply disappeared.  It came upon her so suddenly that she gasped, eyes wide and unfocused in the thought, unable for a moment to move past it.

When she blinked back to the present the both of them were staring at her, Jamie with obvious concern and confusion and Mako with the slow, sideways tip of his head, both clearly waiting for some kind of explanation.

“They don’t know where I’ve gone.”  It didn’t hit home quite as quickly as she would like.  “Sanjay, Prisha...” Given the still-unhurried expressions on Jamie’s face and Mako’s immovable posture neither of them were understanding quickly enough.

“Vishkar.”  Distress was beginning to build in her.  “My colleagues. They may very well think I’m dead.”

Her mind abruptly went to her friends and aquaintances; the kidnappings were different.  Obviously they had been concerned, but they knew she was capable, that she could take care of herself.  A missile didn’t have quite the same temperament or press as the junkers did.

And to think, she’d been idling about ogling—wait no, not that—idly examining the place and taking naps.

Her voice immediately adopted cold and clinical terms for reasons she couldn’t immediately define.

“This is clear abandonment of one’s duties.  And with a new client, no less.”

She knew it wasn’t the real reason for her concern but it was where her mind went all the same, perhaps to keep her from the much more pressing distress: she had no doubt caused her colleagues to worry, deeply.  The words let her be firm and grounded, formal.

How on earth had she allowed so much time to slip by, how had she forgotten the world outside of the little space she’d inhabited for the past few hours?

She was pulled by her thoughts by Jamie’s approaching form, hands up in a calming gesture.  “A’right, a’right. We’ll get you back, ey? In a jiffy.” She didn’t even have time to respond before he’d turned to Mako.

“Whaddya reckon’s the best way, mate?”

A gunt was the prelude to the reply.  “Don’t worry about it.”

It clearly meant he had it well in hand.  Jamie merely nodded and it died off at the end slowly, leaving his expression as something strange and difficult to decipher.  She didn’t have the time nor energy to do so. He turned back to Satya all the same.  

“No worries love, Roadie’s got a handle on it.  The lug’s got a knack for gettin’ around roadblocks.”  His concern became a calm, natural grin and he paired it with a faint giggle.  “We don’t call him Roadhog for nothin’.”

The faint humor of it actually helped.  She nodded, fairly well soothed, and cast a smile to Roadhog. 

“Thank you, Mako.  For taking the risk.”

The large man lowered his head with a grunt that somehow seemed appreciative but Jamie’s voice came into her thoughts once again.

“As for your clients, they give you trouble, you tell ‘em Junkrat sent ya.”  Jamie fixed her with a broad, toothy grin meant to imply a swagger. It succeeded, briefly, and he dipped his chin with a wink.

Even with her mind addled she laughed, or perhaps she laughed because it was addled.  A response came naturally, nonetheless.

“That seems like a poor choice.  But I’ll consider it.”

He was briefly overtaken by a snicker of his own.

“Fair enough.”

Satya cast a quick look around and then at herself, as if she had been lodging at a hotel and wanted to make sure she hadn’t forgotten any luggage.  Of course there was none. She shook it off. Still feeling the haste and the stress, she still had the presence of mind to look at Jamie, genuine with the words.

“Thank you.”  It was true gratitude in her tone, deep and oddly apologetic itself, as if guilty that she couldn’t express her thanks enough.

“‘Course, darl’.  You ever need a place to stay…”  There was a too-long pause. At first he was merely thinking, looking for the actual answer, and then a flash of something across his face made the smile waver.  He must have noticed the haste on hers because he found his voice and the words tumbled after one-another hurriedly to make up for the time, voice a little lower.  “Well, you’ll figure it out.”

Despite the weakness of it her smile was still there, hesitant between the idea of going back to Vishkar and addressing everything that would greet her there.  But she nodded nonsensically and squared her shoulders, not having fully heard what he’d said and certainly not having absorbed the words. She lifted her head toward Mako who nodded decisively in return and she made her way to the bike as he triggered the false wall to open with a knock of a large fist.  She slipped into the sidecar and Mako brought the motorcycle to ear-splitting life in the broad, open space and she released a slow, careful breath to steel herself for the ride to come.

She nearly forgot to look back.  When the thought finally struck her she did so with a sudden urgency, not having intended to let the moment slip past.  Jamie was there in the broad doorway, his hands in his pockets and an unreadable expression on his face until he recognized her stare and, after a moments’ hesitation, he offered her a broad grin—the strange, unlikely glint of his gold tooth shining through—and nothing more.

  
  


* * *

 

 

It didn’t even occur to her that it would likely be the last time she saw them until they had left the hideout and a strange melancholy overwhelmed her as the lights of the Vishkar campus in the distance made themselves apparent in the half-lit sky.  It was deeper than melancholy. She had no idea why. Her chest hurt ever so slightly and she curled the fingers of her gauntlet closed as she raised it, looking upward once again to the looming buildings that suddenly seemed to be more overwhelming the closer they got.

Jamie was already gone, left behind.  She looked at Mako with that same odd feeling, recalling their last departure from one-another that seemed ages ago, and she tapped on the metal beside him to get his attention.  She had to raise her voice slightly over the sound of the motor.

“Stop, please.”

It was obviously confusion that tipped his head to the side but he looked forward, pulled the bike to a suitable stopping point, and brought it to a halt, turning off the motor.

Whether or not he was still confused she felt the need to make herself clear.

“I think it’s best if I go alone from here.”

He lowered his chin in a nod and offered her a brisk grunt, seemingly undecided himself, but allowing her to make the decision.  She slipped out of the sidecar and took a moment to brush herself off but it was futile; whatever was left on the clothes would not be coming out until thoroughly washed, if at all.

She realized her distraction and felt a brief wave of annoyance with herself before returning er attention to Mako.

Strangely, she found that she couldn’t bear to say goodbye.  It was so different from the last time they’d parted in more than one way, and she may have let the pause linger unintentionally too long for his comfort. 

She opted for something more palatable than a goodbye.

“Thank you.”

The man gave her another grunt, another affirmative nod.  But the nod was slow, almost solemn. He seemed to get the meaning and it made it clear that he did recognize the strange gravity of the situation and the fact that it had likely been their last interaction.

Rather than wait for her to go he turned back to the bike, started it, and revved the engine slightly.  He paused long enough to turn his mask back to her for a single, brief look before reorienting himself and taking off into the night.  She watched him go before turning her eyes back to the Vishkar buildings in the distance, uttering a soft sigh as she began walking along now-quiet streets.

It was strange to be out in the open air.  Strange, the otherworldly quiet of the place.  But familiar, she suddenly realized, finding herself retreating to Vishkar once again in the dark and quiet, alone.


	5. London

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can probably tell why I'd hoped to have this up around Halloween, but hey, thanks, depression! So... Happy New Years I guess? This chapter may be overworked, however, it's also extant! Win some, lose some.

Of course, repairing her arm could be no simple thing.

The technicians had removed it and pulled away the electrodes to reveal the damage to her body: five perfectly circular marks splayed from her chest near the collarbone to just outside the range of her shoulderblade on her back, patches of darkened, slightly reddened skin in a clear sign of the limb’s malfunction.

But she didn’t care about that.  The slight sting of them as the medic applied a salve was nothing—her discomfort was because the limb was no longer attached, and the touch to the injured area of her body felt foreign, invasive, and objectively clinical.  It was difficult to sit still through it. And while she knew she could technically offer to take care of it herself she also knew the offer wouldn’t be accepted.  

And all of it would have been easier if it came without commentary, but she couldn’t even escape the admonishments that felt vaguely condescending despite the words themselves being nothing but a reminder of the delicate nature of the technology and the importance of maintaining secrecy with regards to Vishkar developments, including tech.  She had heard it already from Sanjay,  _ and _ from the resources manager, but at least they had stated it with more understanding.

“You really ought to have been more responsible.”

She had bitten her tongue through most of it.  But it began to feel decidedly like chiding and she couldn’t help herself or the bite in her voice.

“As a building was falling down around me?”

“You know what I mean.  With the arm.”

“And what was I meant to do?  Simply continue being electrocuted?”

The technician rewiring her arm a short distance away lifted her head and the man applying the salve stopped, allowing a pause.  It wasn’t so much hesitation as it was giving her a moment to consider her own words, but he answered shortly after.

“If at all possible, yes.”

“Are you serious?”

“The fact that you did not immediately contact us is bad enough.”  The woman had murmured the phrase as if only partially paying attention, her head down over her work.  Satya took the opportunity to stare unseen daggers at her with her response.

“The entire city was on lockdown.”

“And you couldn’t leave?”

Her mouth opened, snapped shut.  There were things she could say. That the outside world had been too loud.  That the shock of it flew it temporarily from her mind. Perhaps even that she had been held hostage; it wasn’t as if there wasn’t precedent.  But something in that seemed wrong to say.  

Or, perhaps, that she had been frightened.  That the Junkers’ presence had actually been somewhat welcome—a strange, stabilizing comfort.  

That most certainly wouldn’t be wise.

She merely fixed her eyes forward in a deathly glare as the man went on.

“You have to understand, Satya.  If people outside of this company could replicate our technology…”  This time there was hesitation in his voice that slowed to a stop; he seemed to be thinking.  “Well, it would be terrible for Vishkar. And who knows what others might use it for. Particularly someone like him.”

There was some grain of truth to it.  But she was in no state of mind—particularly after their preaching and particularly after being touched, despite it being meant to help—to behave nicely.  There seemed to be no reason she should, and as a result her voice remained far from friendly.

“He didn’t so much as look at the synthesizer.”

“Clearly,” muttered the woman.  “I’m sure I’d be able to tell if he had.”  As if to punctuate the point she plucked one of the colored, messy wires from the arm and held it with a meaningfully raised eyebrow before tossing it to the table beside her.

Satya brushed the man’s hand away.  She could hear the shortness in her own voice, even if the anger was slightly more subdued.  

“At any rate, he wouldn’t have access to anything to replicate it.  Nor does he have an understanding of any of it well enough for it to have been a risk.”

The technician looked up to the medic at his questioning look, answering his unspoken question.  “I don’t doubt that at least, if this is any indication.”

Something about the other woman saying it sent a slow, creeping sensation of unpleasant electricity through her, raising her hackles.  Satya kept it to herself as well as she could. She wasn’t completely sure of the truth of the second part of it, particularly after exploring the safehouse—finding the books there, the electronics manuals, the various forms of engineering.  But Vishkar technology was far beyond what one might find anywhere else, and if she had any true concerns he might have taken and manipulated anything, or even simply sold any information, she wouldn’t have taken the risk of allowing him to touch it, even with the frequent shocks.

It was an annoyance that they seemed to be so mistrusting of her judgment, but as they worked to correct what had been changed—now in silence—it allowed her to stew in her own thoughts and she realized that perhaps they had a point.  She, after all, hardly knew him. She had been exposed to him only three times. But her mind insisted that each was so reliably different that it couldn’t just be some superficial understanding that she’d developed, but rather something more.

At the very least the lab tech and the medic’s behavior toward her made it absolutely certain she wouldn’t be sharing anything further with them.  They didn’t seem interested in what she had to say about anything, anyway. It seemed everyone else knew better.

Satya bore out the remaining repairs in utter silence, waiting and willing herself to not think about anything at all.  It was done soon enough; the technician snapped the last of the repaired armor back into place and stood, taking the prosthetic from the table, and Satya stood abruptly, shrugging the man off as she held out her hand in clear request for it.  But the man held up a hand before speaking and the woman withheld it, glancing toward him as he spoke.

“It’s… really not wise to put it on when the wounds are fresh…”

“If you’re finished?”

Satya’s voice had nearly cut him off and her hand remained raised, her eyes focused on the technician in clear demand.  The other woman seemed to take it as a sign and flashed the medic a brisk smirk before handing the arm to Satya. He seemed less certain than before, hesitating before reaching halfheartedly for the collection of small, circular patches complete with fresh electrical connections waiting patiently to be reattached at the counter beside him.

“You ought to wait.  Re-applying it won’t be pleasant until—”

“Electrodes, please.”

Her anger seemed to finally have some effect; he replaced the electrodes silently and efficiently and while it did sting she refused to show it.  The arm followed, attached, and once stable she immediately turned and made her way from the room. No voices followed her.

She made it some distance down the hallway before her footsteps paused and she looked down to the arm, turning it over in front of herself, examining every movement for possible snags or shocks but, of course, found nothing.  It was almost irritating in itself. There would have been some strange satisfaction in them making a mistake. But by all indications they had not and so she continued forward, trying to ignore the strangely awkward feeling of her arm—incomprehensible in its illogic nature.  There was no feeling in the gauntlet, not on any small, ‘muscular’ level; everything manifested where it connected to her body. But it felt as if it had been manipulated regardless, in a way that it hadn’t when she’d entered the technicians’ labs.

She flicked her prosthetic hand in displeasure and noted the strength of the hard-light that manifested with it, finding comfort in the fact that that, at least, felt entirely the same, and she began her way down the hallway.  There was a trip ahead after all, important meetings with possible clients, a jet-setting week of foreign places—London, Milan, and Paris—and she had limited time to prepare herself. Some part of her knew not all of it would be gathering her belongings, but a significant part would be gathering the disparate thoughts in her mind and trying to reconcile them, trying to find some way to make them all fit in the same puzzle, and  _ that _ —not the packing or practicing—would be the most difficult part of all.

 

* * *

 

Satya had never been to England but London, it seemed, was like many cities around the world, only more damp than many she had visited.  But it had its beauties, just as everywhere else did in their own styles. It was interesting, the way the older districts were juxtaposed with the new, sleek buildings in nearby neighborhoods—small pockets of history tucked strangely in with the modern—but there were things she wanted to see and the historic district contained much of it.  

Halloween had come and gone and true, she’d just missed it, but the streets were still adorned with the trappings of it, the reverie too fresh to have been brushed away.  It was a familiar holiday if bittersweet and as she moved deeper into the enclaves of older buildings the decorations seemed more appropriate—ghosts made of thin fabric coiling around the corner of a weathered stone wall, hands reaching out from the ground behind a wrought iron fence.  They simply didn’t look as effective on the new buildings of glass, hard light, and gleaming steel. On those the holiday itself seemed like an afterthought.  

Regardless, she didn’t have the luxury of taking too much time to soak in the details; she had had to essentially beg the time from Sanjay to explore.  Not beg—the word was unfair, she told herself—but certainly make an argument she felt didn’t need to be made, and it left her sweeping unceremoniously toward the political district.  She’d wanted to stop to sample some food along the way but didn’t want to risk the time, so she opted instead to purchase a dessert to take along with her. When it came to the decision she couldn’t choose between one to represent the location or one to represent the holiday.  Instead of choosing she purchased one of each: a treacle tart and a caramel apple, packaged separately and tucked away together in a small bag that she carried at her side as she walked.  

She typically metered her time carefully; even after her stop she was able to adopt a casual pace and while she didn’t have the street to herself the place was also by no means bustling.  There was only the occasional passing of cars and she settled into the relative quiet, listening to her own footsteps on the pavement, the gentle sound of irregular and uncertain birdsong, and the subtle rush and subdued clatter of leaves darting past her with the faint, disinterested puffs of wind.  It wasn’t long before it was interrupted. There was a sound behind her, approaching and recognizable, though something she wasn’t able to immediately pinpoint. It came to her quickly enough.

It was a motor, and a rather loud one at that.  It was only vaguely familiar and matching it was the fainter sound of rattling metal.  She didn’t have enough time for the thought of what it meant to fully realize itself before a form popped abruptly into existence directly in front of her, slightly out of breath but beaming, the momentum of exiting the sidecar before it had even fully stopped sending him careening into her field of view with a remarkably bright grin.

“Satya!”

It was Jamie, of course.  A moment later the garish motorcycle came to a slow stop beside her with a familiar large form atop it.  Mako placed his foot on the ground to stabilize the bike and lifted his hand in a blunt wave that somehow still seemed pleasant.

“Hey.”

She couldn’t decide which one of them to address.  Her hand lifted in a similarly stunted wave to Mako as her eyes drifted to the other junker instead.

“... Jamison?”

She stared at him wide-eyed as her gaze darted over the whole of him, taking in what was a different view—a strangely disarming one.  His form was wrapped in street clothing: a button-down shirt and trousers, one shirt sleeve pulled up above the metal arm and the pants cuffed above the knee of the peg leg.  The prosthetics, at least, hadn’t changed at all, and didn’t precisely match the outfit. Incredulous words slipped from her before she even had the time to think.

“What are you wearing?” 

“Ey?”  Unphased by the tone, he looked down at his own body as if he’d forgotten, himself.  “Oh! Right. Got meself some new clobbers. Good, yeah? Whaddya reckon?”

“I suppose it’s…”  She paused with a blink, unable to focus on both forming words and examining him at the same time, and after a moment managed to continue in a more favorable tone.  “Well it’s certainly an improvement.”

Different, that much was certain.  Her eyes had begun to adjust to it and allowed her to take it in more fully.   _ Entirely _ different.  Appealing, in its own way—in the way it softened some of the sharper edges of his body and the way it highlighted his general form.  But also, strangely, still slightly uncomfortable to her eyes.  _ Too _ different, perhaps.

Still… it was hard to ignore the effect it had.  Regardless of whether it was the newness of it or if it was the dramatically different way it framed his body it was difficult to look away from.

She abruptly snapped back to reality on realizing he hadn’t responded.  He had tipped his head to the side as he looked at her and she had the sudden feeling that she had misunderstood what he meant.  It took effort to hide the slight flush of confusion and the embarrassment from her voice.

“... good for what, exactly?”

It took  _ him _ no time to recover.  He lifted his head to offer her a quick, unconcerned wink as he tossed his thumb over his shoulder toward the bike that sat idling, forgotten.  Mako was dressed similarly, only the clothes clashed so terribly with the mask that she supposed he might be less noticeable if he were merely wearing his usual, which was to say no shirt at all.

“Doin’ a bit ‘a undercover work.”

It was impossible to hide her skepticism and confusion came with it, as if concerned she may have misheard.  

“You two?  Undercover.”

Jamie waggled his eyebrows in response.  “Striking, ain’t it?”

She huffed a breath of quiet but frustrated air, preferring to avoid the question.  “You’re just walking around like this?”

He leaned in toward her slightly with a narrowed eye that made him look keen and mischievous.  “ _ Riding _ .”

“Yes, on an incredibly loud motorbike.  Which is even worse.”

“You didn’t see us comin’, did ya?”

“I wasn’t _ looking  _ for you, either, unlike the entirety of the world’s law enforcement population.”

It didn’t seem to dissuade him at all.  Rather, he lifted his chin higher with an ever-yet beaming smile, clearly proud in himself.  “And yet they still haven’t nicked us.”

For a moment she was entirely at a loss as to how to respond until she was hit with a sudden realization.  Her eyes went blank and wide before she cast the street around her a brisk look and, finding it clear, immediately pushed him with some force around the nearby corner with her free hand, the other holding the bag close to her chest as if it might defend her from prying eyes.  She found the space to be an alley, blissfully empty, and a dead-end at that. He shuffled along obediently with a halfhearted sound of protest, but by the time they were midway around the corner he was smiling again—that small, harmless grin.  

Once out of view of the main street she felt some small part of her relax, allowing her mind to return to the task at hand.  It consisted primarily of looking over him once again, still sufficiently thrown off guard by his appearance—both his sudden presence and the look of him—and her pause allowed him time to bring his fingers to his lips and place them between them, whistling over her shoulder to Mako before raising his hand with finger pointed upward, moving it in a circling motion.  Mako seemed to understand the gesture with no difficulty at all; he turned his head, kicked off of the pavement, and took off at an unconcerned pace.  

Satisfied, Jamie turned his attention back to her with that all-consuming smile and his eyes swept over her quickly, lightly searching, before settling back on her expression.

“‘ow ya goin’, love?”  

Still distracted, she ducked her head so that her eyes could follow Mako’s retreating form, double-checking the street.  His voice drifted on without pause, miraculously somewhat lowered.

“What brings you to jolly ol’ England?  I reckoned you’d be in Venice. Or… wherever it was over there.”

Venice…

Italy.  Her next stop, in no more than two days’ time.  She knew what he’d said but between the statement and his unexpected presence her mind was scrambling to catch up.  She needed to hear it again.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I was just sayin’, I reckoned you’d be somewhere in…”  His gaze swept upward, his features pinched as he thought, clearly double-checking his memory.  “... coulda sworn it was s’posed to be Italy…”

The confirmation pulled a breath from her as she stared at him.  He hadn’t looked back at her yet, still puzzling over it.

“Milan.”  Her voice was flat and suspicious, nerves immediately on edge.  “Have you been _ stalking _ me?”

His gaze flitted back to her.  “Er…”

What he had said—and the meaning of it—dawned on him quickly and his eyes darted to either side as if looking for something to hold on to and, apparently failing at it, dropped desperately down to the bag held between them.  Even in her rising anger his tone was a too-obvious attempt at lightness and distraction as he pointed at it.

“What’ve ya got in there?”

The hard, brisk look on her features was a warning in itself but she took a step forward all the same and he uttered a nervous laugh, leaning back a few inches toward the brick of the alley wall.  Her words were blunt and insistent, disinterested in the answer to his question and primarily using it to punctuate her own.

“Desserts.  Have you been stalking me?”

He didn’t offer an answer.  Instead he doggedly tried to drag her attention elsewhere.

“What kind?”

“A caramel apple and a treacle tart.”

“Bonzer choice.  Y’know, if y’like sweets I know this ripper shop—”  

“I asked a question.”

There was a brief pause in which he attempted to clear his throat but it tripped and turned into a nervous, stuttering laugh.  “Well, y’see, stalkin’ makes it sound bad...”

Satya leaned to set the bag gingerly to the ground beside her and then stood, her right hand coming to rest on her hip and the left raised to her side, the gauntlet lighting at the disc.  Just as before the appearance of the hard light seemed to have some effect on him as his hands—already partially lifted—spread in a gesture of defense in front of himself, although it all could just as easily have been because of the tone of her voice itself.  

“That was exactly my intent.  Am I accurate?”

“Darl’, that ain’t fair—”

“You clearly know where Vishkar is doing business.  It makes sense that I would be there.”  

Trying again, he lifted his shoulders in a way that only intensified the protective pose.  “It’s in all the trades! Can’t look at a screen anymore without seein’ somethin’ about you blokes!”  

“So you  _ are _ stalking me.”

“If anythin’ I been  _ anti _ -stalkin’ you.”  

“What does that even mean?”

“I been tryin’ to keep out of your way.”

She had missed the way his lips had pressed together in an expression that looked oddly familiar: something that verged on a pout.  But it was too sincere and his body had changed with it as well, his hands curling into loose fists, lowered and held in front of his chest in a way that couldn’t help but signal uncertainty.  It wasn’t just the words that were surprising. It was also the way he said them: abrupt and chasing immediately after her own and yet suddenly quiet. It was an offended tone without aggression, more just… unhappily resigned.

The light in her palm flickered into darkness as the words sank in and she blinked, hesitating and abruptly regretting the way she’d lessened the distance between them.  It made his discomfort seem more real and the feeling that began to move slowly through her stomach—some mixture of similar disquiet, guilt, and a strange disappointment—feel closer as well.

“Oh.”

Her lips quirked, curling slightly downward at a corner, and she considered him as he looked out toward the street.  A deep crease had worked its way onto his brow. It made her regret more than just the closeness.

“That’s very…”  She paused too long in her search for a word and in the desperate reach what she found escaped awkwardly.  “Considerate of you.”  

As his eyes flicked back to her for a brief look she lowered her hand to her hip, hoping to remove any sign of a threat and took a small step back from him to regain the distance they’d had when they’d entered the alley.  It didn’t seem to help much; his gaze turned downward as he nudged a pebble on the ground with his peg-leg, his hands buried in his pockets.

It was deeply and uncomfortably silent.  

The air was full of regret and hesitation.  She simply hadn’t had time between his sudden arrival, the hustle into the alley, and the unsettling idea of him following her to find her feet, let alone consider alternate explanations for him knowing about her schedule.  Her mind had still insisted that his running into her had happened too many times to be coincidence—and it had every right to. But the look of him and what he had said suggested otherwise. Convincingly, as well.

Still, she could feel very keenly where that remaining uncertainty lied—the idea of where exactly the two Junkers fit into the picture, a peg that she seemed to need to find somewhere to fit considering they kept popping up—and she had the feeling that it was to blame for most everything that had happened since Jamie had shown up in front of her.  She supposed she couldn’t be blamed for not having considered it. She hadn’t really expected to see either of the Junkers again, let alone so soon.

She could opt not to bother fitting them at all.  But she’d tried that approach, and it had just ended with them standing in front of each-other, both uncomfortable and disappointed, and as remote as the possibility seemed that they would run into each other again it seemed best that she make a decision.

She took a deep breath, ignoring him entirely for a moment, and released it as she spoke with a firm, certain voice.

“Let's start over, shall we?”  She didn’t raise her eyes but focused resolutely on his feet instead as she went on without waiting for a response.  “Thank you for  _ trying _ to avoid me.”

It was followed by silence and immobility in what she could see of his body and so she glanced up for a quick look at his expression.  It was immediately clear he wasn’t following; the crease of concern and confusion on his brow had only deepened and she caught a faint wince as he tossed his thumb over his shoulder toward the street with an uncertain mumble.

“Just waitin’ for Roadie to get back...”   He cleared his throat carefully and rocked back on his heel as his voice dropped to a mumble.   “Got excited, I guess. Reckon I oughta get outta your hair quick as—”

“No, that’s not what I—” 

She cut herself off.  It felt like what she’d said should have been enough for him to understand, and for a moment she was annoyed that it hadn’t been.  Perhaps it had been a bit too blunt. She briefly pressed her fingers to her temples, then took a deliberate moment to smooth the fabric of her clothes, and tried again, her eyes closed.  It made it easier, particularly to soften the tone and lend it more patience, even if her tongue did clip firmly over the words.

“It is genuinely surprising of you to have put in the effort.”  There was a pause as she puzzled over what else to say before she continued, lifting her eyes to carefully meet his.  “And I appreciate that I haven't just immediately been whisked away somewhere, considering past history.” She forced a stubborn-if-small smile as she went on in a slow, leading tone.  “I hope that’s not something I need to be concerned about?"  

In the pause he looked at her strangely, his head cocked to the side like a curious bird, and while there was still a crease on his brow it seemed quite different in a way she couldn’t define, like he was trying with effort to solve some complex math problem.  

“... fair warning is only polite.”

It took a moment more but something finally cracked in the form of an uncertain, breathy laugh that sounded distinctly embarrassed.

“Nah, darl’.  No dramas. Don’t let it worry ya.”

She raised an eyebrow herself, watching him closely.  “Are you sure about that?”

“Wouldn’t be very inconspicuous, would it?  Bad for undercover work.”

“Mm.  I suppose it would be.”  

While his hands were still in his pockets there wasn’t that stiffness to him—his posture had begun the unconscious effort of fixing itself.  She watched him for a moment, weighing her options, and decided it was worth the risk of losing progress.

“I’m going to assume that’s a long-term arrangement.”

He offered her a similar look to before—more curious than confused—and it was clear she needed to clarify.

“Not kidnapping me.”

There was a warning in it.  Somehow by some miracle she succeeded in making it sound both light and sincere, a statement meant to get a message across, but kindly.  It seemed to work; he laughed once again, but it was something higher-pitched and he raised his hands with a deeply crooked grin, one she’d easily begun to recognize as nervousness that tilted his voice upward even as he cracked a joke in spite of himself, as if it were a compulsion.

“Not unless you want an invite?”

Her expression must have been enough to show her disapproval.  He heaved out a few more breathy laughs before shrugging and carefully clearing his throat.

“Righto, love.  Cross me ‘eart.”

She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath; it escaped in a huff, a sound that neared a laugh of relief, and her shoulders lowered slightly with it as the tension in her muscles dissolved.  Message received, it seemed safe to speak more freely.

“Well, it will take some getting used to, visiting somewhere new and not being taken to some dingy warehouse.”

He straightened abruptly with the words and pointed an accusing finger at her as he lifted his chin for a severe point of his nose.

“Oi now, I might have meself a proper castle tucked away here.  One with heaps ‘a room. More teacups than you could shake a stick at and gold comin’ out your ears.”  

She tipped her head to the side with a faint smirk.  “Is that so?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”  And then he stopped, abruptly and completely; his eyes drifted upward and to the side as if he’d just remembered something and—brow still wrinkled with supposed irritation—went on in a mutter.  “Er. Theoretically.”

Her laugh wasn’t quite stifled, but it was at least nothing more than an amused huff of air.  He seemed to catch it regardless and his lips split in a sudden grin, whatever play of irritation abruptly gone, and the more natural quiet that sank in let his muscles go slack, visibly losing their tension.  No more eggshells.

“Anyhow…”  The smile wasn’t entirely gone but he cleared his throat gently with it.  “It’s gettin’ hard to avoid you buggers. Trust me, I been tryin’.” 

Her lips quirked in a faint frown but she brushed it away as she examined him, thinking.

“I suppose it makes sense that you wouldn’t be particularly keen on stumbling in on anyone in the business of security.”  

“Vishkar in general ain’t my cup ‘a tea.”  

It had been a mutter.  Maybe reflexive and not meant to be heard, but for some reason she thought not; the slight offense and puzzlement likely showed on her face just as his eyes flitted to her and it was clear he noticed; he pressed his lips together in a thin line, looking quickly away again.  His disapproval made her realize her own all the same; it brought a sudden thought to her and she looked up to him with a single narrowed eye, considering him gently.  

“Speaking of, what exactly  _ are _ you doing here?”

The question brought his gaze back to her.  “... oh, y’know.”

“I don’t, hence my asking.”

“Uh... tourist stuff?”

“And what exactly does that mean to you.”

He squinted at her hard for a moment and she wasn’t sure if he was thinking or trying to collect something from her expression but—maybe unable to find it—rolled a shrug over his shoulders and tried on a smile that rapidly began broadening.  

“Seein’ the sights, takin’ in the views, ridin’ on that big wheel thingamajig.  Buyin’ meself some treacle tarts.”  

His tongue clipped over the words to emphasize them as he leaned in toward her, not terribly close but enough to notice, his lips splitting to display a sharp-toothed grin that seemed to be quite pleased with itself.  She didn’t budge.

“Those are odd things to be undercover for.”

His hand lifted in a gesture to highlight his face.  “Darl’, when you got this handsome face you gotta take heaps ‘a precautions.”

It was so unexpected that she nearly laughed, the sound hidden in a sharp exhale.  He returned it, his own a high-pitched giggle between sharp, closed teeth, and continued easily before she could ask again.

“Alright.  Cards on the table.  I’m here to, ah… blow somethin’ up?”

“... I don’t believe you.”  

Perhaps she ought to, but she took another look at him, sweeping up and down more skeptically.  For his part he seemed genuinely surprised and, oddly, slightly offended. He opened his mouth with a breath, clearly meaning to protest, but she cut him off.

“Or rather, I wouldn’t be surprised if you intend to blow  _ something _ up, though I don’t believe that’s the main reason you’re here.”  

He eyed her closely in return for a moment with a slowly-growing and crooked grin.

“A’right then.  Since you got no complaints with it I’ll keep me explosions to somethin’ small.”

Her lips pressed into a hard line as she gave him a warning look.  “Don’t blow anything up.”

He pulled away once again with a roll of his shoulders, standing up straight with an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh.

“You’re impossible to bargain with, darl’.  Like last time all over again.”  

She remained immobile.  “You still haven’t answered the question.”

“Which one?”

“Of why you’re here.”

Unexpectedly, he seemed enthused about the inquiry and fixed her with a faint snicker.

“Not very subtle, Miss Vaswani.  You’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

There was something subtly different in the cocksure statement—it was goading, oddly pleased, and her response came remarkably easily.  “Let’s see…”

She had no idea why hard light seemed to intimidate him so much.  She had no idea if it actually did, aside from the use of the teleporter.  But she wasn’t going to question it much if it got results, and she barely even raised her prosthetic arm, merely rolled her fingers toward each other before he folded.  

“‘ang on, ‘ang on, alright…”  

It was more good-natured than before: grinning even, looking on the verge of laughing, happily defeated. 

“We’ve been pokin’ around, doin’ some uh…”  He paused with an upward glance. ”’Recon’, guess you could say.”

She watched him carefully with a slowly-lofted brow.  “That’s very vague.”

“Recon for a job?”

“Still not very specific.”

There was a pause as he quieted, looking at her for a moment.  It lingered further than she’d expected as his teeth worked at his inner cheek in a way that seemed both thoughtful and indecisive and when he spoke the tone had changed, cautious and curious all at once.

“... you sure you  _ want _ specific?”

It wasn’t a question she’d expected, nor one she’d considered.  Her hand was still raised, her fingers still slightly curled, and while she’d formed no light atop the disk the pose was as if someone simply waiting for a reason to resume a threat.  But the words had stilled her there and she stared at him without fully seeing him as her mind worked over the idea.

She tried to find some benefit to knowing—to having any clue what he and Mako were doing, or rather what they planned to do.  Steal something, likely. Perhaps just cause general mayhem, but it sounded as if it were intended to be something big if preparation was involved.  But she’d been involved in more than one of their schemes and at worst they’d simply made off with some jewels. The greatest loss of valuables, the last time she’d been involved with them, certainly hadn’t been  _ their _ fault.

And what, precisely, would she do?  Report them to the authorities, she supposed.  Have them set up some kind of sting. And then, naturally, they would go to jail, and likely simply escape again.

Maybe it was some sense of owing them after Johannesburg—more specifically since they had saved her life and briefly housed her with surprising hospitality in that uncertain, terrifying time.  Maybe it was simply not wanting to be involved.

She hesitated with blank indecision for a moment longer before her eyes flitted back to him, her gaze more pointed.  Suddenly she wondered if she truly did ask for real information that he might actually tell her. Somehow she hadn’t even doubted it when he’d asked.  

The words were hesitant and felt slightly perplexed as they slipped from her.

“I don’t need to know the details.”  

It brought him to a similar stop and her eyes darted to his just as he blinked, his brow furrowing seemingly in just as much puzzlement as she felt.  He cocked his head to the side, careful, curious, and wordlessly questioning, but while she felt a faint desire to explain she wasn’t sure how, or even how much, and she only paused for a moment longer with the thought, a brief but sincere consideration.  And realized it already felt delicate enough without her having to try to explain herself. She found her voice and spoke with sudden, decisive finality.

“I’m off the clock  And I’m not here on a security assignment, so I assume I’ll have no need to.”  

It didn’t seem to be what he’d expected—his reaction was a smile and the furrow etched on his brow made it seem surprised, delightedly puzzled.  

“... yeah, a’right.”  It took a moment before he gave his head a small, brisk shake and went on in a voice that sounded strangely lightheaded.  “If it ain’t work what’re you here for?”

“Perhaps not security, but still business, which is one reason of many I would appreciate if you were to behave.  As much as is possible for you.” She lowered her chin slightly with it, giving him a meaningful look from under her lashes.  “If you must ‘do recon’, please do it quietly.”

He laughed once again, an amused snicker.  “I don’t usually take requests but for you, darl’?  I’ll try to keep me nose clean.”

Despite the light tone it seemed… genuine.  Or at least, not overtly sarcastic. But she could, of course, be misreading it.  She opted to assume the best—she didn’t have much choice anyway.

“I appreciate that.”

“What kinda business they got you on?”

“A meeting.  With a potential client.”

“Ah, they got you bein’ the show pony at parties again.”

There was a certain lament in his voice—a strange thing, considering his complete lack of involvement in any of it.  There certainly wasn’t any taunting there. Regardless, she gave him a displeased look; it was difficult to forget their prior conversation in Rio...his implication that she didn’t enjoy her job.  For the slightest moment it soured her response.

“It’s a  _ private _ meeting.  Only myself and Sanjay.  And the client, naturally.  But yes, I will be doing a demonstration of some of our more advanced tech.”

“Sanjay?”

His eyes were focused on her with tentative attention and raised eyebrows.  Of course he wouldn’t have any clue who Sanjay was. Somehow the fact felt like an odd one.

“Yes.  He’s my partner.”  

“... oh.”

It had been true, more or less… she wasn’t interested in explaining the hierarchy.  Sanjay’s position ever-so-subtly above her. The usually-casual interchanges but the occasional hints—reminders—of his superior position.  Thinking about it actually irked her at times.

But there was an odd pause as the conversation stalled, the remaining lightheartedness abruptly gone, and it was such an unexpected change that she was left blinking at him with a gentle crease on her brow.  He had glanced out toward the entrance of the alley briskly with pursed lips nd begun tugging on his shirt-sleeve, and his silence was odd—both uncharacteristic and uncomfortable—and aside from feeling confused by it she actually began to feel somewhat irritated.  The only solution would be to fix whatever had been broken.  

“Is there something wrong?”

“Nah.”  His answer was immediate and his prosthetic fingers abandoned the cuff of his sleeve as he raised his hand to rub the back of his neck instead, still looking out into the street.  But despite his eyes remaining elsewhere his voice lightened somewhat as he went on. “So Vishkar… you’re movin’ up then, ey?”

It was easy to forget the prior topic, particularly as his words swapped out irritation for pride.  She smiled with a small noise of affirmation, a pleased hum, and turned her eyes to her raised prosthetic arm as she idly and effortlessly pooled a small swarm of light above the disc.

“So much as I may sometimes be…”  

Her words came to an abrupt stop as she realized something and hesitated, the smile faltering.  She’d begun talking so easily and on things she perhaps ought not to, and she kept her eyes stubbornly on the gauntlet in case he was looking at her, hesitating.  After a moment further of thought she went on more cautiously.  

“Such scenarios are not necessarily my areas of… expertise.”

She didn’t look at him, resolute, but heard the curiosity in his voice all the same.

“What, like, showin’ off what it can do?”

In a way it was an attempt to ignore him, the way she lifted her hand to twist the light into a more complex shape as she went on.  In another it was a useful distraction.

“In more formal environments, yes.  Or I suppose it’s more the formal environment itself that I don’t particularly enjoy.”

She snapped the light out of existence and hesitated for a moment further before opting to go on, keeping her voice flat and disinterested with purpose.  “Provided I still have time for research and development it could certainly be worse.”

She cast a cautious glance up to him, not entirely certain what she was feeling, but she was met with nothing but a faint frown on his face, that crease on his brow, and his lips thoughtfully pursed.

“Well, glad to hear business is boomin’.”  

It was a sort of mutter, an odd tone despite the unconvincingly small, half-crooked smile that he finally turned toward her.  But she had her own distractions. Things with Vishkar had been beyond pleasant and she couldn’t help but feel proud in their successes.  It deserved more emphasis, particularly given his own dislike of it.

“We have managed to secure quite a few new contracts.  Especially after—”

The words came to a slow stop.

The attack on the museum.

Whatever pride she’d felt in her chest faded slowly at the thought, surprised enough in herself that she hadn’t seen where the words had been going. 

Their eyes met more intently, snagged by the thoughts of the last time they had met.  The circumstances. The outcome. Both of them shifted their gazes away at the same time.  His tone was a little less pleased than before.

“Seems like security is somethin’ a lot of folks probably want right now.  Makes sense I’ve been seein’ more about you lot in the rags.”

Something suddenly shifted, like a jumble of thoughts had suddenly been laid out, a pile of puzzle pieces splayed flat, the bits and pieces of the image visible but still not complete.  The abruptness of it, the incomprehensible nature of it left her mind suddenly blank. She wasn’t even entirely certain what it was, but it was there all the same, buried under something deep and stubborn.  She only knew one thing for certain: it was sudden feeling that something that was terribly wrong, something that could drastically change things. Everything, possibly. And it brought on a strange, sudden swell of something like panic mixed heavily with frustration, an incomprehensible mix of emotions that left her utterly silent and her eyes unfocused, staring forward without seeing.

He noticed.  Quickly, she was sure of it, despite her disorientation.  Maybe his interruption was a blessing. Maybe it was the only thing that kept her from more fully untangling the seemingly-impossible knot of things in her mind.

“You ‘right, love?”

She didn’t know how long she’d been silent.  Still entirely lost at what the thought might have even been and what had brought it up in her, she shook it off, opting not to try follow the train of thought.  And that strange compulsion to talk to him about it was there, inexplicable and worrisome. All of it aside, she wasn’t even certain what she would say. Instead she focused on his question with a brisk shake of her head to clear it.

“Fine, thank you…”  It was less certain than she’d like and so she tried again, returning to their previous topic, possibly too abruptly for it to be convincing.  

“I suppose that’s true.  People wanting security. Much busier since… well.”

It didn’t need to be said again.

“Your mates at Vishkar been lookin’ into who it was, d’ya reckon?”

“Not that I’m aware of.  I believe they’re leaving it to the authorities.”  She took a deep breath as she tried to shake the remainder of the unwelcome feelings off of herself and distract herself with the conversation.  “We’re more security than investigation.”

He uttered a low grunt of obvious displeasure and folded his arms across his chest, leaning back until his back was pressed against the alley wall.  

“Authorities ain’t good for much, trust me.”

They looked at each other for a moment longer.  She was tempted to comment but the topic was oppressive enough and she shook herself, trying to find a way to shake it off as well.  She pulled her eyes from him and glanced to either side of herself with a frown, her eyes catching on the gentle blue of the disc of the palm of her prosthetic, and her eyebrows raised at the thought before she turned her eyes back to him.  His own gaze had dropped downward; she took advantage of the fact and shifted her body to subtly lower her arm so that it was just within his field of view, wiggling her fingers experimentally as if for herself.

“My arm is back in one piece.”

It took a moment—he looked at it blankly for a second before seeming to recognize it and shook himself as well, suddenly back to the present as she held it up to him, keeping it still as he pulled his weight carefully away from the wall, his spine straightening.  His eyes locked on it as he cocked his head to the side and began to reach for it as if instinctively before abruptly stopping, seemingly thinking better of it, his fingers curling into his palms instead. But she held it stubbornly in place, turning her palm upward so that the disc was within easy view and—after a quick glance upward at her that was met with gently raised eyebrows—he reached out carefully to take the palm in his hands, gently turning it in the smallest degrees from side to side to examine the armor panel that had been damaged.  She was pleased to see that his features brightened slightly as he looked at it, the furrow on his brow entirely gone and the concern replaced with curiosity and, as he spoke, the slightest indications of a smile.

“Nice ‘n shiny again.”  His lips had quickly curled in a broad grin.  “At least that’s somethin’ proper sorted.”

“And largely painlessly, thanks to you.”  She’d found a faint smile of her own but it faltered as she went on, her expression drying.  “... well. Physically, anyway.”  

His eyes shifted up to her immediately and his expression shifted as well, questioning and clearly uneasy.  She wasted no time in elaborating and painted her voice with clear annoyance, but it was laced with the humor of a shared secret.

“How many ways of saying ‘you’ve done something wrong’ are you aware of?”

He fixed her with a blank, open stare, and she might have missed the meaning had his lips not begun a slow upward curl in the otherwise silent alcove.  It was a look that threatened to dissolve into a laugh at a moments’ notice, and it seemed to be the sort that would set off something loud that took over his whole body.  It wasn’t difficult to understand the meaning.

“... I’ve forgotten who I’m speaking to.”

A laugh burst from him, just as loud as she had expected, and she waited for a moment to let him recover before going on with a dry edge to her voice.

“At any rate, it was a novelty for me.”

She’d not realized he was still holding the arm but he lowered his eyes to it and released it carefully, as if gravity itself might damage it.  The laugh was still embedded in his voice even while the apology seemed genuine.

“Ah, sorry love.  They give you a good tongue-lashin’?”

“It was terrible.”  Suddenly realizing something, her voice sharpened over something far more accurate.  ““No…  _ condescending _ .”  She pushed a breath of air out between her lips in a huff, resting the freed prosthetic hand on her hip.  “The technicians essentially told me to simply electrocute myself should it happen again. And the resources manager…”

She didn’t bother with any attempt to not roll her eyes—there was no one of consequence there to see it.

 “I don’t think I’ve ever experienced so many different ways of being chided.  Aside from me letting you look at it in the first place, which came with a speech—”  

She had nearly forgotten he was even there, wrapped up in her complaints, but recalled his presence abruptly, raising her eyebrows.  He was grinning good-naturedly, his lips curled in sympathy and amusement.

“I don’t think they approved of your methods, either.”

“How’sat?”

“The technician had some things to say about your handiwork.”

“What about it?”

“Too disorganized for her tastes, apparently. She didn't exactly try to hide her disapproval.”

He narrowed an eye gently as he brought his own hand to his hips in clear offense, his voice an irritated mumble as he glanced off to the side.

“Didn’t have to look nice…”  

“Mm.  I felt there were higher priorities.”

The best he could do was an annoyed ‘tch’ of agreement.  Perhaps it was inappropriate but a gentle laugh escaped her, finding amusement in his sour look—not at his expense, merely his expression.  Far from offense, his eyes returned to her and he seemed to brighten slightly at it, and when her smile took on a pleasantly puzzled edge he looked pleased even moreso, standing straighter and bobbing his head indignantly with the words with a small noise of derision.

“Drongos don’t know decent work when they see it.”

It would be impossible for her to disagree with the pleasant, lilting tone. 

“I suppose not.”

A quiet moment passed.  His attention had drifted elsewhere, perhaps still inwardly cursing the technicians, but a thought had come to her that she couldn’t suppress, or at least failed to catch before it left her.

“How do you manage it?”

There was genuine curiosity in her voice.  And as he lifted his head to look back to her he returned it with both his tone and his expression, an eyebrow raised and a peculiar look on his face.

“Manage it?”

“Misbehaving so much.”

It may have been an odd question—she wasn’t even entirely certain where it came from.  And she may have begun it with a playful sentiment but she found that there was some truth there.  Some real curiosity. It was something she truly did not understand. And perhaps her unclear tone was why he merely blinked at her, absolutely blank, before responding in turn.

“How do you behave so well, d’ya reckon?”

In the wake of the paired questions and response they simply stared at each other, both considering, though she couldn’t tell if they were considering the questions themselves or simply one-another.  He focused her with a strange look. It was a look that made him seem concerned, as if his lack of certainty might be due to something deeper than simply not understanding.  

“I don’t think I do.”  Perhaps it wasn’t helpful but she’d never considered herself ‘well-behaved’ in any compulsory way.  It simply… made sense. “I suppose I don’t see the sense in disrupting the order of things.”

The brief pause didn’t seem like one of someone not knowing what to say, but of someone trying to find the words to say it.  

“Way I see it, sometimes the order of things could use a good disruptin’.”

“How so?”

“Just… sometimes ‘the order’s got a habit ‘a puttin’ certain people at the bottom.”

It was enough to take her aback, though she didn’t even have the time to fully understand why; her mind seized on the first thought that struck it and she peered at him closely, attempting to draw some form of illumination from him.

“You make it sound as though your…  _ anarchy _ has a purpose.”

“Y’make it sound like your ‘order’s got the  _ right _ one.”

What on earth did  _ that _ mean.  She could feel it move through her: a brisk flash of reflexive offense.  But it was chased and quickly mingled with a frustrated sort of curiosity.  It was vaguely reminiscent of their conversation in Rio about Vishkar. About it not being “on the level”.  It was yet another conversation she wasn’t sure she wanted to revisit.

They had both gone quiet as they considered one-another once again.  She noted his faint frown and was well aware that she held one of her own, and she spoke in a quieter voice, sounding somewhat lost.

“I don’t understand you.”  

He uttered an abrupt huff of a laugh.  There was no enjoyment in it.

“I reckon you ain’t the only one.”

It left them simply staring at each other, a long pause filled by unease and confusion and a vague sense of regret, as if wishing the conversation could be buried from memory and left behind.  But then he broke it, abruptly and without prompting, with a sudden animation returning to him in the subtle ways his body moved, his shoulders in a silent laugh, his hands in a brief, subdued shrug, and a crooked, still-awkward smile that he was clearly urging to become more natural.

“Anyhow, those techs are bloody idiots if you ask me.  Tell ‘em for me, yeah? Next time you run across ‘em. Don’t make it too soon, though.”

A bewildered breath of air escaped her, nearly a laugh, fueled primarily by relief.

“You have consistently terrible advice, but I’ll certainly allow myself the mental picture.”

He lifted his chin, proud of himself.  “Hell, I’ll come tell ‘em myself. Doubt they’d even recognize me.”

She nearly snorted.  “I would not advise it.”

“Why’sat?”  

The question came with an innocent, goading grin and she fixed him with a narrowed-eye stare as she considered him, raised one hand to gesture idly at him, curled the other over her stomach, and spoke deliberately, like it was a challenge.

“You truly think no one would recognize you?”

“Reckon I could’ve fooled you if I hadn’t announced meself.”  

It was so patently ridiculous, such an impossible idea that a flash of both indignance and amusement shot through her all at once, widening her eyes and threatening to curl her lips upward.  And it was so beyond the pale that she quickly came to expect he was merely toying with her. Not displeased to play along, she settled for a strong response, the words dry.

“You would  _ absolutely _ not have.”  

“Yeah?  An’ why not?”

There were any number of reasons.  Her mind seized on the first thought that floated by.  Rather than swat him she flicked his metal arm with the fingers of her gauntlet dismissively, using it to punctuate the words.  

“You’re still half-metal.”

“I’ll just tell ‘em I’m a bot for Halloween, problem sorted.”

“Halloween is over.”

“I don’t own a calendar.”

He gave her nothing but that broad grin, the gold tooth glinting, his eyes pinched to pleasant half-moons from amusement.

“You’re still half  _ flesh _ .”

Thumb pointed toward his own chest, he cocked his head to the side.

“Cyborg.”

A gentle, playfully irritated breath escaped her.

“I suppose if I say you have a very recognizable face you’ll have an answer for that.”

There was a moment’s pause.  One of his eyes narrowed before both swept upward in brisk thought before returning to her.

“... identical twin?”

Slightly frustrated with herself for the amusement in the first place, her eyes attempted to find something else she could mention, more ammunition.  She was still close enough from pushing him into the alley that she could quickly put him within reach and with an annoyance that was gaining its momentum she turned her dismay to the shape of him.  To the details.

“Alright, then.  Shall we see what else?”  

It wasn’t hard to find somewhere to start.  

“Your hair is an absolute mess.”  She swiped her fingers at the strands near his forehead to prove the point, flicking only a few of them back into place with the pointed and quick gesture before her attention moved on.  He winced slightly at the movement, clearly not expecting it.  

“You already have stains on your clothing.”  

She assumed the wardrobe was relatively new, or else it would likely be absolutely covered in dirt rather than the single, small smudge.  She emphasized the point with a light tug of his collar, her thumb and forefinger on the fabric, briefly and disapprovingly examining a smudge of soot that had worked its way into the cloth there—light but still present.  He dipped his chin down as she touched it, lifting his own hands to try to investigate it, and while he was distracted she took to looking for more details.  

She found them.  His buttons were off-kilter, uneven, sending the collar crooked at his neck.

“ _ And _ you haven’t even done the buttons properly.”  

Just as with every other point her hands were automatically in motion and she reached forward to press the pads of her thumb and forefinger over the button at his neck, setting the fabric free, her eyes moved to the next as she began her work in sequence.  She couldn’t help but feel smug; it had been the sort of thing she was looking for, after all.  

“If you’re going to wear something nice at the very least keep it clean and wear it correctly.  You’ll need to learn to be more careful if you intend to stay inconspicuous.”

The quiet huff of air was both irritated at his apparent inability to take care of himself and also a strange mixture of pleased with herself for finding so many flaws.  Her tongue continued of its own volition, mindless in its expression of self-satisfaction, her fingers still on the offending buttons and a self-satisfied curve on her lips.  She wasn’t sure why she was giving advice. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She could clearly do a better job of all of it if she wished.  

“I would say altogether that you’re fairly unmistakable.  It doesn’t help that you seem to be so intent on drawing attention to yourself.” 

It took a moment.  He was too slow to reply, and at first she simply didn’t notice, but once she became aware she assumed it was simple embarrassment, or perhaps being cowed after so easily having his efforts be proven insufficient.  She didn’t mind going on, although she did take care not to sound cruel. She didn’t mean to harm, after all, merely to win.

“You truly are terrible at all of this.”

He answered, finally, in a voice that was a quiet, faint mumble.

“Guess it ain’t one ‘a my many talents.”  

The tone was strange. Oddly adrift and vaguely confused.  Certainly nothing with the humor she’d intended to keep alive, but she couldn’t tell what it was.  Despite the risk she glanced up at him.

He was simply staring, wide-eyed, his brow faintly furrowed and his eyebrows knitted inward.  She blinked, suddenly a bit uncomfortable under it. His hands were still up, his fingers on the fabric of his collar where he’d decided to check the stain.  Odd. Her eyes slipped quickly away from his and darted over the rest of his features within view—tension to his jaw, lips pressed together in a way that suggested an awkward, rabbit-like freeze.   Her brow furrowed further. Collarbone, chest, and… 

Her hands.  Her knuckles pressed gently against his stomach and the pads of her fingers still pressed against the innocent round disks.  She blinked down at them. His expression made sudden sense.

She wasn’t certain why her hands didn’t abandon him immediately.  That same balancing act, perhaps, that she’d felt in their hideout in Johannesburg, the thought that the moment could be completely salvageable with the right words and actions, if she could only figure out what they were.

But by the time she had the thought it was too late to simply pull her hands away; she had to find something to try to leave the situation gracefully.  He gave her no help and her hands lingered for a moment longer as she tried to think. She said the first thing that came to mind, still staring bluntly down at her fingers.  Her tongue tripped a bit unevenly over the words but as she went on it smoothed and began to sound natural. Conversational, even.

“Who chose the fabric for you?”

His voice was that same mumble.

“… some bloke at the shop…”

“It’s good quality.”

“Ta?”

It was enough, or it had to be.  She hesitated for one second longer and then took a single too-large, sweeping step backward and away, and with the quick retreat she looked to the alley exit—not to check on their privacy, but simply to look anywhere but at him.  Despite putting the distance between them her mind still raced for something to say, as if the perfect words could still bury all of it, but she couldn’t find anything.  

She hadn’t thought twice about it; it had felt perfectly natural in the moment, had fit perfectly well with the teasing.  That was a thought she wasn’t interested in exploring further. The movement of vehicles passing in the street outside proved a welcome distraction and she took a deep breath, crossing her arms carefully over her chest and pulling a strand of hair behind her ear.

Finally, she heard his unsteady, huffed laugh as the movement in her peripheral vision suggested a surprisingly purposeful and slow attempt to right the shirt.  Her eyes flitted to him to watch him sidelong, ready to shift her gaze elsewhere at the slightest hint of him raising his own. He was giving the buttons his utmost concentration.  The duck of his head seemed slightly deeper than necessary and from the angle she could barely make out the appearance of his teeth clinging to his lower lip in what she supposed must just be effort.  The progress seemed slower than it ought to be and she opted to watch the street until he’d settled himself. It came with the careful clearing of his throat, and as her eyes moved hesitantly to him again they found him plucking at the cuffs of his sleeves in a way that seemed tailored to keep his hands busy.  And while he didn’t quite succeed, his attempt to regain the carefree tone he’d greeted her with was admirable.

“Could do with some tips ‘a the trade, I reckon.  Lookin’ fancy ain’t exactly my specialty.”

She chanced a look toward him, her arms still crossed and her body still angled slightly toward the street.  Her voice escaped her more hesitantly than intended. “Mm… not one of your ‘many talents’?”

It hadn’t been full strength.  But—apparently recovering, or at least managing a more convincing version of it—he took over for it with a widening grin as if nothing untoward had happened at all.

“Yeah, been lookin’ to expand my repertoire.”

“To what, more than just torn trousers?”

He glanced down at himself, offended, before recalling that he wasn’t wearing his more typical style of clothing and looking back to her in accusation.

“Oi now, ‘ang on.  I’ll have you know those are  _ fashionably _ torn.”

The breath of air that left her was brisk and her lips quirked upward slightly with it.  She could feel the tension in her shoulders loosen and breathed more deeply as he uttered a high-pitched giggle.  She didn’t need to answer. He went on in a still self-pleased murmur that was nonetheless clearly meant for her to hear and comment on.

“Don’t think I did ‘alf bad.”  He tugged on his sleeve cuff again, this time as if truly examining it.

“I’d say your tailor might deserve some credit.”

The response had come easily and they met with mutual smiles—hers modest but genuine, his a full, pleased grin.

“Reckon I owe you for the help, too.”

Unsure what to say, she hesitated for a moment before her voice moved carefully over the word.

“That’s—”

But he appeared to seize abruptly on an idea.  His eyes went wide and briefly blank before he sucked in a breath, deep, as if surprised in it himself.  The word burst out of him, interrupting her own.

“Hook!”

“What?”

She offered him a blank look but he seemed only more excited, bright-eyed and nodding as if it might explain without words, his lanky body shot straight.

“Yeah!  I reckon after all that Vishkar stuff you’ll be heaps hungry.  You’ll ‘ave to get some dinkum London tucker! I know an ace shop for it.  One fish and chips, on me.”

He was grinning broadly, his hands on his hips in a way that made him look triumphant, and while she had been struck with amusement at his excitability it began fading abruptly; an uncomfortable and uncertain feeling had begun to grow behind it, vague at first but quickly making itself far too-well-known, and she must have looked it.

He noticed before she could say anything.  His features went blank in a series of confused blinks before his eyes widened in recognition of something and he laughed both uncomfortably and too-loudly, raising his hands in a dismissive sweep of the idea.

“Just pullin’ your chain, ‘darl, no worries.”  His voice wavered slightly with lingering uncertainty before he cleared his throat and continued quickly and doggedly on, trying to regain their casual conversation.  “Haven’t got the time anyway. Too much plannin’ to do. But if y’want the list I got it all right here.” He raised his hand and tapped his temple with a finger with a more convincing grin.

Her lips curled in a cautious, uncertain smile with a voice to match.

“I’ll certainly let you know if I need a recommendation.”  

He responded with a broad grin and a click of his tongue as his hands raised, his fingers pointed toward her in imitation of guns as he leaned back against the wall.  Both the gesture and the distance, however slight, were encouraging, and they allowed her a moment of gentle humor, even lending her enough for a smirk.

“Sadly I don’t believe I have your phone number.”

“Hm.  Does present a problem.”   His lips curled as well, wry and clever all at once.  “Don’t really have one, actually.”

“I suppose I’ll have to find some other method of contact, then.”

“Set somethin’ on fire.”  

The answer was immediate enough as to be alarming, nearly cutting her off.  She had no idea if he was joking, but she wrinkled her nose with a faint, slightly bemused smile and offered something else.

“... what about sending up a firework?”

He seemed happily surprised at the idea if his instantly-brightening features were anything to go by.  

“Bang on, love!  I see fireworks, I’m already on the way.”

Her breath escaped in a quiet laugh.  It had evened out, all of it, once again.  Nothing tight in her chest. No longer feeling the need to keep herself turned slightly away.  It felt comfortable again and made it easier for her to respond.

“It’s probably best that you avoid Vishkar, though.”

He only managed an irritated ‘tch’ and a snap of his fingers before she realized.

“Oh!”

Speaking of it made her remember.  She looked down at her watch and a small gasp burst from her lungs.  

“I have to go.” 

“Oh.  Right.  Now?”

“Yes, now.”

She hadn’t meant the slight irritation in her voice but it seemed like something that didn’t need to be said, and was likely fueled by her sudden impatience.  She’d turned, moving toward the street outside, and he’d begun trotting after her; the odd sound of his peg leg on the bricks followed her and his voice drifted to her from over her shoulder.

“Want a ride?”

“Probably not the best idea.”

“Hog’ll drop you off somewhere nice an’ quiet.”

She paused to think, considering, and the depth of it brought her feet to a total stop.  His ‘hrk’ of surprise and the sound of him staggering to a sudden halt behind her only barely reached her consciousness and she shook her head, brushing the idea away and already beginning to walk again at a brisk pace as she answered.

“I’m afraid that really isn’t worth the risk.”

She was nearly out of the alleyway before suddenly recollecting something and she stopped once again.

“Oh!”

Turning around, she found he had nearly run into her once again, and he stopped in his tracks as she dodged around him and plucked her package off of the ground with a breath of relief at having remembered.  She ran through a brisk checklist in her head to be sure she hadn’t somehow forgotten something else and—satisfied that she hadn’t—began exiting the alleyway once more, her fingers curled around the bag of desserts and her attention still on it before she suddenly recalled herself just in time to come to a stop in front of Jamie, who had remained where he was, turned back toward the alleyway, looking stiff and shocked as if he still hadn’t gotten over almost running into her twice.

She had no idea why, but he clearly seemed too off of his feet to say anything, and while she had no doubt he’d recover in spades shortly she also didn’t have the time to waste.  But it didn’t seem acceptable to simply leave. So she stopped purposefully in front of him and drew her lips into a light smirk.

“It was nice to see you, Jamie.  Particularly in a decent pair of clothes.”  

Perhaps still not completely recovered, an awkward laugh escaped him, his lips crooked and the tips of his teeth visible with it.  It still seemed off-guard somehow and it was a strangely satisfying expression. One that she felt she could get more out of even in her hurry.  She opted for a gentle dig.

“One might even think you could be presentable if you cleaned up more often.  Perhaps even handsome, if you made an attempt. And if you could manage to avoid setting yourself on fire.”

It had been meant as a simple taunt but it escaped too quickly for her to consider it fully, or rather, for her to consider any potential ramifications.  She actually might not have noticed if it weren’t for his blink of mild surprise or the apparent confusion that came after. It was an expression much like when she had looked up at him with her fingers on the buttons at his abdomen, unaware and neither of them seemingly caught up to any of it.  In fact it was far too reminiscent of it.

She returned it.  They were left staring at each other in some state of small shock.  

And she was suddenly back at the hideaway, the pad of his thumb brushing over her cheek and the look of something like terror that followed, but this was different—shock, true, but without the fear.

She blinked, briefly stuck before the words came to her and escaped briskly.

“I have to go.  I’ll be late.”

He seemed about to offer her a ride again before reconsidering.  She had the impression he’d simply forgotten he already had. His lips parted with intent to say something before his jaw snapped closed and he shook his head in a harsh movement that no doubt was meant to jar his mind.

“Righto.  Well, er…toodle-oo?”

She was already out on the sidewalk and moving away in what felt distinctly like a retreat.

“Right.”  

 

* * *

  
  


It wasn’t until she had made it to the meeting with scant time to spare that she really had any opportunity to process all of it.  The surprise at seeing him, the small pleasure of his enthusiasm at seeing her, and looming in her mind the fact that she hadn’t even said any semblance of goodbye.  Regardless of her attempt not to she felt horrible about it, enough so that it left her feeling distracted for the first minutes of the meeting before she could shake it.

And then there was the mortification of what she had said, or rather, what should have felt more deeply like mortification than it seemed to.  Handsome. The thought was patently ludicrous, even upon brief reconsideration of it in some of the free seconds she had while Sanjay and their potential client were speaking.  Certainly it wasn’t something she meant to say—or maybe more accurately, it wasn’t something that she  _ meant _ —but his look of surprise and confusion...

Handsome, no.  Ridiculous, most certainly.  But, she supposed, unique.

And there was a strange guilt that only made itself known as a vague feeling of discomfort in her stomach until the meeting was over, at which point she could feel it more keenly.  If it was going to be their last interaction it hadn’t been a particularly meaningful or ceremonious one. Not that it had to be, she told herself. She should be happy enough that he was leaving her alone.  And she was, more or less. Or would have been, moreso, if she hadn’t known it had been so purposeful.

She already knew he was strange, and curious as well.  But it had oddly been an inexplicable balm to speak with him, if only for the novelty of it, or perhaps for the simple relief of being able to complain to him, to discuss inconsequential things she might otherwise be scolded for.  But then there were the things he said, about Vishkar, but not even just Vishkar. About the concepts of law and order, themselves.

Those rubbed like a grain of sand in her shoe.  She was happy to leave them behind. They helped her move on in her thoughts.

Regardless, it was strange to think that she might not see him again.  It seemed impossible, really, if only based on the fact that somehow they had somehow managed to run into each other once again.  But he had said he was attempting to avoid her, and seemed to be actively doing so… despite his failure at it. She felt the tug of gravity at the corners of her lips.  It was a strange feeling. It was what she wanted, after all, but having it stated so plainly and openly to her was displeasing and she didn’t fully understand why.

It was lucky that nothing on the docket had required much effort at all; she was well accustomed to their standard display of tech and it proved to be entirely unchallenging, and while her mind wasn’t entirely elsewhere she certainly wasn’t giving their potential client her full focus.  But then, that was Sanjay’s job.

At any rate the meeting couldn’t be over soon enough, and as she forced a smile onto her features for their goodbyes and was left in the brief quiet with Sanjay she could tell that he had noticed something, although she could never be sure how much he did or did not know.  Sometimes he seemed far too insightful. Sometimes, admittedly, she might attempt to mislead him a bit as a result. Only to keep him on his feet, she told herself. But when he spoke it was clear it was going to be one of those evenings.

“Is everything alright, Satya?”

“Yes.”  It didn’t seem like enough, and the lingering silence suggested she perceived correctly, so she offered something more.  “I’m afraid I’m just distracted tonight.” She realized too late that it might prompt follow up questions and hurried on.  “I hope it didn’t affect my performance?”

“No, not at all.  You were exemplary, as always.”

She did her best to stifle a sigh of genuine relief as he continued.

“I hope you understand how much we appreciate you, Satya.  You’re undeniably our greatest talent.”

Something in it prompted her to look at him.  He was looking at her closely. Close enough that it made her wonder.  But then, there was no reason to.

“I know travel can be a burden for you, but if there’s anything we can do to make you more comfortable, as always, please let me know.”

“Thank you, Sanjay.  I will.” She offered him a faint smile, strangely surprised at the offer.  It wasn’t as if it wasn’t assumed, but hearing it stated so plainly was a different matter.

He smiled in return, hands folding behind his back.

“That said, it’s getting late.  I’m assuming you’ll want to return to the hotel.  We have the car waiting.”

But she paused, her mind briefly flitting over her memories of the evening, everything from her peaceful walk to her encounter with the Junkers to the meeting, and in the brisk rush of it she exhaled carefully, weighing her options.  She reached a decision.

“Actually, I think I might prefer to walk.”

“I see.”  

His voice was hesitation as he eyed her but she knew he understood the implied ‘alone’.  He always caught such things. But he asked all the same.

“Are you certain you don’t want company?”

“Thank you, but I think I prefer to walk alone.”

She likely ought to come up with an excuse.  She was never good at that. Luckily Sanjay seemed to know this; he simply nodded.

“In which case I’ll see you back at the hotel.”

“Yes.  I shouldn’t be long.”

  
  


* * *

  
  
Although it wasn’t late the sky was darkening quickly above the autumn leaves, and as she moved further from the political district toward her hotel the hour began to feel dramatically later; the stores along the street had begun to close, shopkeepers pulling their goods from the sidewalks and tucking them neatly back behind the windows.  It was hard not to notice one in particular as she walked by. Her feet came to a stop next to a basket filled with long, slim things, covered on the outside in colorful wrapping with small tufts of thin paper poking from their tops, and she raised her eyes to the bright displays of fireworks splayed along the edge of the thin sidewalk and in the shop windows.  Something about it was distracting—maybe just the infinite colors, or the variety itself—and she somehow failed to notice the shopkeeper’s presence until he picked up another basket mere feet away and offered her a friendly, if somewhat curious nod of his head.

“‘Ello, Miss.  Can I help you?”

She snapped back to attention and looked at him as he eyed her for a moment longer before finding her tongue.

“What’s all of this for?”

He gestured vaguely over his shoulder to the displays in various states of deconstruction, the basket still in hand as he gave her a strange look.

“It’s for Bonfire Day, love.”

“When is it?”

“Not for another two days, but you’d be best to stock up now.  They’ll go quickly by tomorrow.”

She lowered her eyes to the basket in his hands, blinking, and focused.  She recognized them easily: fireworks, thicker cylinders, the kind that demanded attention with a streak of bright colors followed by a burst of light high in the sky, and without another thought she reached for her purse, carefully removing her wallet with a decisive voice.

“I’ll take one.”

“Just one?”

“... three.”

“Fair enough.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The roof of her hotel had been surprisingly easy to gain access to.  True, it wasn’t meant for guests, but she’d always found manual locks to be insufficient against the careful application of thin slivers of hard light.  It had been remarkably easy.

The night was cool, a brisk breeze toying with her hair in brief, halfhearted bursts, fueled by the simple obstruction of its path by the presence of the building itself, and she took a moment to settle herself in it, gently rubbing her upper arms to stimulate some heat.  It was all she needed before she stepped further out into the largely dark space, moving toward the well-protected edge. There didn’t seem much point in wasting time. She had come with a purpose, after all, and she told herself that the chill required efficiency, and the experiment itself was nothing but an exercise required to quiet her curiosity.

So she found her way to a spot far from the roof access door and a distance away from the roof’s edge as well, reaching into the bag she’d been carrying and removing one of the fireworks, raising it for a brief examination.  It seemed bigger and more unnecessary as she held it in her hand, but there was little point in thinking about it now, and so she placed it carefully on the roof’s surface and pulled a lighter from the bag, flicking it to life.  The slim flame cast small but sharp shadows and she considered the wick for a moment longer before gently engulfing the end of it in the fire. It sparked into instant animation and left her, for a moment, inexplicably stunned before she blinked against the light and retreated a short distance, setting the bag down to watch.

She was grateful that the initial explosion wasn’t so loud as she expected.  But a whistling hiss told her that her message was on the way nonetheless and the sound of it quieted as it gained distance before finally exploding in a burst of bright orange and silver high above the building, sending a colorful apology into the night sky.

It was remarkably satisfying.  Or at least, it felt like it ought to have been.

The smoke from the first firework faded away in the returning quiet-dark and she hugged herself once more, opting for another brisk rub of her arms as her eyes pointed blankly out over the half-lit city sky, unfocused.  The experiment had been successful in that she had done it, and that was all that was required to satiate her needing to know what might happen. She’d lit her firework and sent the supposed ‘message’, whatever it was intended to be, and that was that.  It was simple and clean and she was free to return to the warmth of her room and settle in for the night.

It was more difficult to explain away the second.

She hadn’t intended to, really.  But when she’d gone to gather the bag and return down the stairs her hands had grasped another firework instead and—just as before—flicked the lighter, lit the fuse, and brought themselves back to her arms to warm themselves as she disregarded the explosion entirely, preferring to find a place at the edge of the roof to watch.  The area around her was bathed in that same light as the firework exploded above her and she took in a deep breath, releasing it slowly as she looked out over the city. Suddenly beginning to feel tired, she lowered her elbows to the chest-high barrier at the roof’s edge and leaned against it, allowing her thoughts to go blank.

She wasn’t sure what she expected.  Her mind insisted nothing. Something else suggested that, despite the ridiculousness of the idea, she had hoped for  _ something _ .  But as the night’s silence regained itself and the last faint trails of smoke blew from the sky she felt her posture sink slightly to allow her chin to rest on a curled fist as she stared out over the city’s dimmed lights.

Maybe it was a silly thing.  But she glanced back to the bag a short distance away containing the last firework.  Perhaps it was worth shooting it off as well. Trying again, her mind suggested, but trying for what, exactly… that she wasn’t as interested in speculating on.

She looked at her watch with a sigh.  It was getting late.

So she pushed away from the wall and turned, sweeping the bag off of the roof’s surface.  Despite her decision to retreat she plucked the final firework from the bag; her prosthetic hand joined the other over the profile of the single remaining projectile as she gazed at it with no intention but to distract herself for a moment longer, but her thoughts snagged on the slightest of sounds—a faint, distant hiss, nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the city sounds.

She ought to have expected something dramatic if it could overcome the low hum of the traffic below, but she was met with the sight of a bright trail streaking upward above the city skyline, bright enough to illuminate the rooftops below, and she barely had the time to utter a surprised gasp before it exploded in a burst of brilliant blue that lit short-lived stars in the sky, each one burning intensely before it began to flicker and fall and, soon enough, fade away entirely leaving only that tell-tale breath of smoke behind as the sky dimmed once more.

It had been far away.  Not too far to see, of course, but farther than expected, somewhere off to the northwest, and while she briefly tried to triangulate where it might be she shook it off a moment later.  Not only was it impossible, it was silly. There was no indication it was anything at all, really—just a firework from an impatient reveler who took her cue as an opportunity to set off one of their own.

… although admittedly quite a powerful one.

Still... her brow furrowed as she stared in the direction it had come from, her lips pressed in a faint, pensive curve that was both cautious and hesitant, not certain of itself.  But it was late, and it was surprising enough that no one had come to check when she had set off the firework at all. It was best to return to her room and prepare for the next day—there was more travel to do.

 

* * *

 

It was on the news the next morning.

They had broken into Buckingham Palace, disarmed the alarm system somehow, but left the security cameras—either not knowing or not caring whether or not they were caught on film.  She suspected the latter. They never did seem to care much for anonymity.

It was clear as day who it was—Jamie’s tall, lanky form with his wild hair, the frag launcher on his back as he worked to connect wires to some form of explosives on a vault door and Mako’s massive body, neither of them in the street clothes she had seen them in, both of them in their typical ‘uniforms’—and there seemed to be no effort made to conceal their identities.

She had no doubt how the situation would resolve itself—their retreat off camera, the explosion that would cut off the feed—but instead there was the slightest, nearly too subtle to notice light through the window, flickering ever so slightly brighter than the typical city lights, and Jamie paused, lifting his head to peer out the window for a moment perfectly frozen in place.  He remained that way before Mako nudged him and his body shook itself briskly before returning to the task at hand, running additional feet of wire before that same flicker of light cast subtly different patterns of shadows across the floor through the open window and he paused again, once more perfectly stilled. He didn’t move until Mako nudged him once again, the large man leaning down in a way that made it seem as if words were exchanged, and soon enough Jamie brushed him off in favor of heading for the stairs and the large man dutifully followed, seemingly without complaint.

The footage was spotty once in the stairwell, the feed patched together from camera to camera between the floors, but she could see Jamie digging something from the pouch at his side, and by the time they kicked the door open to the roof he was holding it in hand, his left fingers curled around a small box that he placed between his teeth, sliding out the inner portion and plucking a small, thin stick from it.  A match, easily distinguished as it sparked to life. And despite the graininess of the footage it seemed for a moment as if he squinted off into the distance, peering in that direction for a moment before lighting the fuse and holding the rocket away from himself in his prosthetic hand, the other plugging his ear. Within a moment the rocket burst into the air, strangely silent in the security footage, and the two of them were briefly illuminated as it exploded high above them, the eyes of Mako’s mask reflecting the light and Jamison’s grin—the distinct glint of a golden tooth.

They didn’t stay much longer; Jamison moved to the edge of the roof with his characteristic gait and pressed his hands against it to better look over the city sky and, after the timestamp skipped forward nearly two minutes, turned and beckoned to Mako.  She’d expected them to go back inside. But instead they stayed at the edge of the rooftop, working on something she couldn’t discern from the footage, and within a minute a cable had appeared at the edge of it. Mako’s large body disappeared first, slipping casually over the edge, a shadow moving down the cable until the darkness overtook him, and Jamie paused for a moment longer, glancing back to the door to the stairwell, hesitating, and then followed easily after.

There was no further footage.  There was no need for it.

It was puzzling.  They’d stolen nothing despite clearly setting everything up to break in: they’d disabled the security systems that might give them away before the blast.  They’d simply abandoned their explosives, leaving it to sit until early morning when security finally found it. The news anchors seemed just as confused as all of the other Vishkar employees, but she watched it again as it played in the lower corner of the screen, ignoring the pointless chatter of the hosts and focusing on it instead, recalling the parts the feed hadn’t yet gotten to or parts they omitted as they repeated it, clipped it for time.

It was less puzzling to her.  There were unknowns to it, but the faint, flickering lights through the window were recognizable if not in the shadows they cast then in their time stamp, and similarly his own trip to the roof and dispatch of a firework was far from mysterious.  But the inexplicable and decisive abandonment of whatever theft they’d intended was less clear, and as she watched him stare through the window, his head tipping slightly to the side as if in thought, her own did the same.

Sanjay’s rich, smooth voice interrupted, and she realized she wasn’t certain how long he had been talking.

“—but at least this time they didn’t involve you.”

She shook herself mentally and attempted to bring herself fully back the present.  It was briefly disorienting, but the response was easy enough to offer—she could have done it automatically.

“Ah.  Yes, and thank goodness for that.”

She heard him take a deep breath and readjust his weight in his seat, his arms crossing over his chest as he pointedly ignored the food in front of himself, much as she had been ignoring her own.

“Granted they’ve never followed any form of logic, but I’ve never seen the dolts behave like this.”

She ignored the insult, but there was something else about his choice of words, something interesting enough for her eyes to flick briefly toward him.  She recognized it after a moment: her conversation with Jamie.

_ I would appreciate if you were to behave. _

_ I don’t usually take requests but for you, darl’?  I’ll try to keep me nose clean. _

Sanjay’s voice drifted in, woven between the words in her memory.  

“Regardless, I certainly don’t understand them.”

“Mm.”  Her response was immediate, a quiet and thoughtless sound of agreement, and her eyes turned back to the screen with an amused, puzzled upward curl of her lips.  “Me neither.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's good to be back
> 
> sometimes you gotta push through some awkwardness to get somewhere better


	6. Milan

It was easy to shake off the morning’s mild bewilderment upon seeing the newscast, particularly once they began their preparations for departure.  It wasn’t long before both she and Sanjay were on their way to Milan, and in the quiet of the plane cabin, although for the most part she allowed her mind to idle and recharge, she did take a moment to review once again her strange and unexpected interaction with Jamie  For the most part it was nothing but a benign, brisk re-inventory of the event, but when she recalled herself essentially undressing him her fingertips curled against the book held closed in her lap and she fought to keep any hint of the mortification she felt out of her expression on the chance that someone might catch it.  She opted for her book for the rest of the flight.

Everything else went smoothly; they arrived at their hotel in late-afternoon and Sanjay checked them in, pocketing his key and providing Satya with her own with a smile.

“I believe Prisha said she would be waiting in the lounge to meet us.  Shall we?”

“After a moment to freshen up, I believe.”

He nodded deeply.  “Very well, then. We’ll see you there shortly.”

“Naturally.”

As Sanjay gestured to the baggage carrier who came to collect their things and then began his way to the lounge Satya heard a quiet voice behind her.

“Ah, excuse me…”

A woman dressed in hotel uniform was standing just-slightly away, still behind the check-in counter and was wearing a pleasant yet vaguely apologetic smile.  Satya tipped her chin toward the woman curiously; her expression must have been enough to suggest that she continue.

“I apologize for the interruption.  Miss Vaswani, was it?”

“Yes?”

“There’s a message for you.”

It didn’t calculate—not immediately—until the woman held it out for her to take: a small envelope.  Satya reached forward and took it gently in both of her hands in mindless reflex. The woman began to retreat before Satya could say anything and she stared down at the thin object, turning it over in her hands.  Her name was written on the front of it in gentle, curving loops of cursive in pleasant, perfect proportion to one-another. Curiosity overrode all else and she flipped the unsealed envelope open and pulled out the slim piece of paper inside, folded over itself twice.

On the paper were written two words, one on each line:  
 _Tipota  
_ _Tiramisu_

She stared at it for a moment without understanding, blinking helplessly down to the note before raising her head and, pausing for a moment longer in indecision, edging her way the short distance to the woman who had handed her the note, finding their roles quite suddenly reversed.

“Excuse me…”

The concierge lifted her head and seemed surprised to see her for a moment before smiling once again.

“Oh.  Yes, miss Vaswani.  Can I help you?”

“Did you see who left this for me?”

“Oh, no, I apologize.  I should have clarified.  I took the note from a call we received.”

“A call?”

There was no reason for her to have received a call.  Her hand turned the note over once again as if it might provide more information the second time and she tried to speak carefully, not certain if it was wise to ask.

“... do you happen to know what it might mean?”

“Oh!”  The woman seemed surprised by each question, and she smiled more brightly for a moment.   “Yes, most certainly. I’d assumed you would know. Tipota is a restaurant. Not terribly far away.  And I’m assuming the note is suggesting the tiramisu.”  

When Satya offered nothing particularly helpful in reply the woman cleared her throat gently and lowered her voice, her cheery tone gaining something more curious and faintly warning.

“Miss Vaswani, if I might—”  She hesitated, her brow furrowing before she appeared to make a decision with firmer expression.  “We have _much_ finer restaurants than Tipota, and much closer as well.  If you don’t know who sent you the message I might suggest…”

Satya’s close look, the crease on her brow may have given the concierge pause, but she took a breath and went on just as decisively anyway.  

“I will admit, I pried a bit and looked it up.  It’s not an impressive eatery. More than that, however, the caller seemed…”  She lifted a hand and gave it an uncertain gesture, tipping it side to side. “... strange.  I’m not at all certain what accent I was hearing, or if it was actually a true accent at all.  It seemed more like someone making a poor attempt.”

Something in it piqued a latent thought and Satya wondered, attempting to keep her lips in a neutral, thoughtful line as the woman went on in a slightly-more-lowered voice that sounded something like a warning.

“And I’m fairly certain I could hear heavy breathing in the background.  Or… wheezing.” The woman cringed lightly, as if the recollection itself was disquieting.  “It was difficult to tell.”  

Inadvertently, unavoidably, a sound escaped Satya.  It caught in her throat and then, when she refused to release it there, it instead found release through her nose in a huff that could have been interpreted as anything were it not for the smile she tried desperately to subdue with it.  Luckily her hands moved quickly and she crossed one arm over her stomach, the other resting on it at the elbow so that she could cover her mouth with the piece of paper, effectively concealing it from the other woman.

The concierge had already begun to pull back—her warning message delivered—and had blessedly taken glances to each side, clearly about to return to her chipper, service-worker self.  It was enough time for Satya to recover, and she forced her lips to behave and return to something more disinterested, offering the woman a nod of gratitude.

“Thank you.  I very much appreciate the information.”

And the other woman was gone, quite suddenly back to concierge mode and giving Satya a pleasant-if-superficial nod.  

“Of course!  If you require anything else during your stay, please feel free to let us know.”

It took most of her effort for Satya to keep from smiling, still eager to leave the interaction lest she give herself away, and so she simply nodded and hurried off, slipping between the other guests near the desk and towards the elevators.  The note remained in her hand, curled carefully in her palm lest it get crushed despite the fact that it was no longer needed. She was suddenly beyond grateful Sanjay had moved along before the concierge had gotten her attention, and it raised the question: what, precisely, would she do next?

It was easier to clear her mind once she was in her room.  She slipped through the door and closed it gently behind her, leaning back against it as she drew the note upward to look at it once again.  At least it had been discreet. But the sudden thought occurred to her: what if Jamie was _there_?

Her mind suggested not: surely the Junkers wouldn’t put the effort into secrecy and then completely undermine it by simply _being_ there.  But then, she knew quite intimately that Jamie at least sometimes got ahead of himself.  Except since the last time in London… she didn’t think, for some reason, that he would make that particular mistake.  She felt certain she had made herself clear. And Mako might be better-trusted to keep him in line.

But it didn’t matter—Sanjay and Prisha had no doubt made dinner plans, and beyond the fact that it would be rude to disregard them and simply disappear on her own instead, she had missed speaking with Prisha.  She was one of the few close friends Satya felt she had—aside from Sanjay, of course—and she ought to take what time she could with her.

Still, she stood with her back on the solid surface of the door and found herself staring blankly down at the note held in her prosthetic hand, not seeing it.  Unaware entirely of it, her right hand slipped into the purse at her side and she suddenly found herself looking at the screen of her phone, her thumb already typing in the word “ _Tipota_ ”.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Dinner was strangely difficult to focus on.  The food—the finest quality, of course—still seemed uninteresting, the conversation oddly unengaging, and simply the atmosphere itself did nothing to curb her distractibility.  Worse, she was well-aware of it. She hated having to force herself through such things, and while both Prisha and Sanjay were always understanding it felt like a failure nonetheless: a failure of what she wasn’t sure, but a failure all the same.  She felt as if she were forced to slog through the words, both her own and those of her companions, and it quickly grew exhausting. It was all the more frustrating that the lethargy seemed to have no source. It wasn’t as if it never happened, but there were often at least triggers for it.

There was one moment that seemed it might be able to have some positive effect; the dessert tray passed the table, carried by a waiter trying to tempt the three of them, and something flitted through her mind that she’d managed to forget: tiramisu.

She’d never had it before.  She opted for a slice, taking an experimental bite to find a creamy, coffee flavor on her tongue.

It, too, was ultimately unsatisfying.

They disbanded after dinner to their own devices, Prisha to her room and Sanjay to the lounge once again, and Satya politely declined his invitation to stay and excused herself to the sanctuary of her own temporary domicile.  She had kept the lights dim and the air slightly cool as she preferred it to be, and upon entering she allowed herself a deep stretch, hoping it might set free whatever unpleasant feelings had settled into her muscles.

It didn’t.  Not quite. She could only sigh in disappointment and walk further into the room, allowing herself to fall face-first on the bed in frustration.

If it hadn’t been for the soft catch of the mattress as her body came to an abrupt stop she may have missed it: the subtle bounce of something at her side and then, a moment later, into her hip.  And while for a moment she tried to convince herself to leave it be she couldn’t quite, so she shifted her weight, pushing herself up to sit, and her hand grasped the offending item with disinterest.  Her phone had slipped from her purse. She looked at it for a moment, staring down at the dark screen, and the thought occurred to her that she should text Prisha and apologize for her poor performance at dinner.  It sometimes helped, even if she wasn’t even certain what she meant.

She flicked the screen, the bright colors springing pleasantly into view, and in the very middle of it the word was still there.

 _Tipota_.

Satya stared at it unmoving for a moment longer before abruptly getting to her feet.  A walk might help. Apologies could wait until the morning.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The first thing Satya did on leaving the hotel was to take a deep breath, reveling in the clean air and the relative emptiness outside and, after a  moment, began on her way. Her phone led her through beautiful squares and past fountains, the water glittering in the small lights each restaurant had strung outside to offer their patrons something dim and romantic.  Something in it felt like freedom, although that most likely was simply its contrast to the earlier portion of the evening.

When she found it somehow it was exactly what she expected it to be.

It was a small place, or at least looked to be from the outside; she could just see the counter and sparse tables scattered within whatever corners they could find.  They looked like furniture plucked from a family home and simply placed elsewhere, as if the restaurant itself was an afterthought. The double-doors were open and the tiny space was exposed to the night’s fresh, chilled air and the same strings of lights cast gentle shadows down on the stone street.

Despite the hour there was no lack of customers and it caused her to hesitate, uncertain if she wanted to subject herself to the presence of other people, but she’d already been seen looking in, and when she stopped uncertainly a woman behind the counter—older, with the slightest grey to her hair— gestured toward her, sweeping her hand inward in a clear demand she come inside.

Satya’s feet hesitated before she took a deep, decisive breath and stepped forward, slipping over the threshold.  

The place was full of sound—loud, boisterous laughter, exuberant conversation, and the background hiss and bubble of food in various stages of preparation.  She didn’t even have time to be grateful that no one paid her entrance much attention before the kindly-seeming woman leaned forward over the counter and gestured again with a smile, speaking just loudly enough that it carried.

“Come.  Come, sit.”

Satya spared her a faint smile in return and, although she was still doubtful, settled herself carefully into a seat directly in front of the woman and—more importantly—as close as possible to the door.  If the woman noticed or was offended she showed no sign of it and instead nodded appreciatively, patting the counter in front of Satya with satisfaction, and turned to make her way back, likely to the kitchen.  It left her feeling abandoned… or at least, until another woman with dark, braided hair approached from behind the counter as well.

“Hello!”

Her voice was bright and enthusiastic, enough so that Satya was a bit taken aback.  She recovered quickly and fixed the new woman with a smile.  

“Hello…”  

She hesitated before clearing her throat awkwardly, not entirely knowing why she felt so incredibly out of place.  

“I suppose I’m here for the tiramisu?”

“Oh…”

The woman shook her head slowly, her brow furrowed, and Satya’s heart hit a dull, disappointed beat, uncertain what it was but aware that it wasn’t what she’d hoped for.

“No, ah… English.”  The other woman offered her a smile, something nearing an embarrassed grin that struck Satya as reminiscent of another she had seen, and the woman gestured behind her before cupping her hands around her mouth and yelling loudly enough that Satya started.

“ _Ehi!  Matteo!_ ”

Satya heard the response from somewhere far back, partially-muted from the distance and out of sight.

“ _Cosa vuoi?_ ”

“ _Vieni qui!_ ”

Apparently unperturbed by the disruptions, the older woman had reappeared and picked her way past the various barriers—including the woman with the braided hair—to come to a stop in front of Satya.  She had been too distracted to fully focus on the other woman’s return, let alone notice that she was carrying a plate—her attention split between the words flying back and forth—and she failed entirely to make note of it until it was suddenly slid onto the counter in front of her: a tall, square slice of cake, multi-layered in a brown so dark it neared black interspersed with rich-looking, white cream.  Satya raised her eyes just in time to see the woman wink at her and she lowered her voice conspiratorially.

“Solo per te.”

While the message didn’t seem much to matter, Satya paused for a moment longer to translate it as best she could, grateful for her admittedly sparse introductions to the romantic languages.  She was confident enough in the meaning. _Only for you._   Her lips quirked upward gently at a corner as she narrowed an eye at the other woman thoughtfully, who raised her eyebrows in reply and handed her a carefully wrapped set of silverware and stepped away with a self-satisfied smile.  As she moved away Satya finally saw the man she assumed to be Matteo and the dark-haired woman still yelling at each other, and the older woman didn’t so much as pause as she swatted them both with a sharp but notably quieted admonishment.

“Lascia che si goda il suo cibo.”

The words—far more complex than the ones used earlier—were entirely lost on Satya, but it didn’t matter.  Regardless of how consciously she noticed it the relative quiet that sank in had its effect quickly as she turned her focus toward her food.

It was beautiful in its simplicity, although not in the way the cake she’d sampled in the restaurant was.  There were no decorative cream puffs covered in powdered cacao, no dark chocolate drizzled over a small bed of berries.  It was simple, perfectly symmetrical and balanced.  

She paused for a moment to glance around herself and found that everyone seemed to be in their private conversations, everyone behind the counter speaking in more reasonable voices and—finding no more reason to hesitate—split the cream with her fork and gathered a small portion of the layers underneath, taking a bite.  The cream hit her tongue, cool and light, and the fluff of the layers of bread complemented it. She closed her eyes to consider it more fully and took in a breath through her nose, focusing for a moment on the cacao.

The taste was wonderful, but it was the texture that was exceptional.

She had intended, when leaving the hotel, to simply find the place, eat as quickly as possible, and leave.  She’d only planned to satisfy her curiosity. But the dessert had lived up to its unspoken promise and everything felt as though it had pleasantly slowed, allowing her to take in the surroundings more comfortably: the mix of warmth from the kitchen and the cool of the night air slipping through the open door came to a comfortable balance and she took in a breath, finally simply taking in the smells of the place—freshly-pressed noodles, the slightly acrid-sweet tang of tomatoes and garlic, and the soothing scent of olive oil.

Perhaps she should have eaten her entire meal there, after all.  But of course, that hadn’t really been an option.

Upon taking the last bite she found herself satisfied but—more importantly—feeling deeply calm.

But she felt it must be getting late, and a glance at her phone proved she was right, and that it was undeniably time for her to return to the hotel.  Breathing a regretful sigh, she lowered her hands to her purse, reaching for her card. She only managed to raise it slightly above the counter before she heard a vaguely familiar voice, but in a different tone—both friendly and firm, and in absolutely perfect English.  It was Matteo.

“No charge, miss.”

She raised her eyes to him to find him drying a glass, and he nodded down to her card again to further drive the point home.  

“No need for that.  It’s on the house.”

She hadn’t expected it; she tucked the card away with a gently furrowed brow, readjusting the purse on her shoulder without standing, still attempting to re-settle herself in the world.  The man must have taken it as understood—he started his way back toward the kitchen.

Satya wasn’t certain where exactly it came from but her voice burst from her with a bit of urgency, as if if the man made it through the door she might miss her chance entirely.

“Excuse me.”

He stopped and turned, looking toward her with one gently raised eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“Do you think you can get a message to the person who paid for my dessert?”

His hands stopped moving on the glass and he hesitated, looking her up and down in a way that she couldn’t quite translate.  His large shoulders rolled in a helpless shrug as he tried again.  

“I told you, miss, it was on the house.”

Her eyes narrowed in a hard, challenging look.

“Do you think you can or not?”

There was a pause as he returned her stare with a careful, slow examination of his own.

“... possibly.  But I can’t give any guarantees...”

“That’s acceptable.  Might I have a pen and some paper?”

It was clear for a moment that he didn’t remotely follow; he stared at her with a deep crease on his brow before abruptly putting down the glass and—after wandering in a circle in search of something—found what she needed, placing them down gingerly in front of her.  She didn’t bother wasting time. The moment it was in front of her she began writing down what was needed—a simple list of places and dates. She finished penning it and stood, folding it twice before handing it to the man behind the counter with a polite, even gracious smile.

“If you get the chance.  I very much appreciate it.”

“Of course, miss.”

Her intention to leave was disrupted, but only briefly.  The woman with the braid nudged Matteo none-too-gently to the side with a beaming smile as the older woman offered something more subdued, placing her hands on the counter as they each spoke in turn.

“Bye-bye!”

“Ciao, bella.”

 

* * *

 

It was much later than intended by the time she finally reached the hotel and, while she was tired, it felt like an entirely different exhaustion than it had after her dinner.  The exhaustion earlier had been a familiar mix of frustration and effort, whereas as she reached the elevator she felt nothing but tired legs mixed with that strange, satisfied energy that sometimes came with it.  It was enough to draw out a faint smile.

As she stepped out of the elevator and withdrew her card to enter her room she heard the gentle chime of another elevator door opening and another passenger disembarked a short way down the hall.  It was likely reflex that raised her chin and turned her attention toward the sound; she looked up just in time to see a familiar form step off of the elevator, trim and proper as ever.

“... Sanjay?”  The surprise must have shown in her voice and she remained standing with her card, making no move to enter her room, conveniently next to his own.  “It’s late.”

He casually withdrew his own card and came to a stop in front of his own door as well, but rather than open his he found a similar distraction with briefly carding through what looked like receipts before tucking them away and raising his head to her for a smile.

“Indeed it is.”  As if to make the point he yawned, subdued, and cast a glance toward her with a faint smile.  “I thought I would spend some time enjoying the space while we’re here. And spend a bit more time with Prisha, of course.  We’ve been doing so much travelling...”

Satya remained static at the door, staring blankly forward.  Her chin sank slowly so that her eyes were left pointed unseeing at the floor.  She didn’t have any thoughts to be interrupted, but Sanjay’s voice cut through her consciousness all the same and she started.

“Is everything alright?  You seemed to be having a difficult time earlier.”

“I, ah…”  It wasn’t something she wanted to discuss.  At all, true, but particularly after she had found something that had so improved her night.  She cleared her throat and replied with a halfhearted murmur. “I suppose it was simply one of those nights.  I intend to give Prisha my apologies.”

“That’s kind of you, but I’m sure it’s unnecessary.  And if your walk helped I’m glad you were able to take it.”

She wouldn’t have been able to explain it if asked.  But there was something there that seemed odd, perhaps in his voice or perhaps simply in the way it was said, and it wriggled uncomfortably at the back of her mind as she lifted her head to look at him, a faint wrinkle etching its way onto her brow.

“Ah…”  

He smiled, but it only deepened the feeling in her chest that felt abruptly difficult to define.  There was confusion there but something else, and while she didn’t have it in her to be frustrated she could feel herself running up against something odd and out of place.  She could think of nothing at all to say, and so she said what came to her lips first.

“I see.”

Maybe he knew she couldn’t offer him anything.  His smile softened and became more encouraging as he lifted his card, prompting the door of his room to open.

“Goodnight, Satya.”

She repeated the words of departure mindlessly.

“Goodnight, Sanjay.”

 

* * *

  
  


Somehow—she had no idea how—it seemed that Jamie had received her schedule.

In Paris, a letter waiting for her at the front desk.  In Barcelona, a verbal message from one of the bag-carriers.  Never anything more than two statements of recommendation: a restaurant name and a piece of dessert.

She’d begun to look forward to them—small, exciting mysteries to be explored, places she had never been, even if only mere blocks from her hotels.  Neighborhoods she would never have visited—ones that, at first, she might have found herself uncomfortable in, just as she had at first felt uncomfortable in that small restaurant in Milan.  She only regretted that she didn’t receive more each time she stayed: they often spent nearly a week in one place and in her impatience she often sought out the surprise on the first night, leaving her nothing for the longer, more socially-draining days that followed.

But the letters stopped coming.

True, her schedule had been interrupted once or twice, changed last minute.  But then, as he’d said, it wasn’t that difficult to find out where they would be.  And even more, it would be easy to suggest things scatter-shot, hitting the most prominent hotels in as many major cities as were possible.  Maybe it was greedy for her to spend time thinking of ways he could have kept on and gotten back in touch with her but it didn’t seem _that_ hard to get a simple, two-word message across.  And he did seem to have an abundance of knowledge about seemingly every city.  It didn’t seem like he could have simply run out of suggestions.  Even if he had he could at least have sent _something_.

That particular idea made her feel sour for reasons she couldn’t figure out.  

But a month went by, and then two.  It was unexpected just how upsetting it was. 

She found herself at the Vishkar headquarters in Hyderabad during a lull in their schedule, back to her more typical schedule of research and development and the occasional teaching of a course or two.  And she was toying with disinterest with a new design and her mind was entirely elsewhere when a voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Satya.”

Sanjay’s voice was unobtrusive, not demanding her attention yet requesting it all the same.  She paused for a moment to consider the design of the turret in her hand—something new, simpler, for beginner students to practice with—before allowing it to disappear.  She wasn’t annoyed, not really. His presence was just… unexpected.

“Yes?”

“I apologize for the intrusion.”

That single sentence, at least, was enough to soothe her slight irritation.

“No need.  What is it?”

“We’ve been invited to Rio de Janiero to meet with the Mayor, or moreso, to take part in an, ah… ribbon-cutting ceremony, as it were.”

She looked at him finally, lofting an eyebrow in gentle question and he obliged, continuing.

“Perhaps not as… typical as most, but one all the same.  Do you recall that old conference building? The derelict—” She could see his nose wrinkle in distaste as he went on.   “—cement monstrosity, the one just at the edge of the city center?”

It took her a moment.  She had to think to recall it but it came eventually—despite their brief time in the city she vaguely recalled it, only because—precisely as Sanjay put it—it wasn’t particularly awe-inspiring.  Not sure why it was being mentioned, she raised her hands again.

“Ah.  Yes. Is there something…?”

“They’ll be tearing down the remainder of it.  Imploding it, actually, for a new Vishkar campus.”  He raised his eyes with a vague, unimpressed wave of his hand before he went on.  “Dramatics. We have, of course, been invited to attend.”

The announcement was a surprise, but within a second of considering the ceremony—and particularly the idea of wasting her time with the destruction itself—she decided she was very much disinterested.

“Mm.  That’s quite alright.”  

His voice held a faint note of pleasure.  He clearly hadn’t been particularly excited to go, either.

“Understood.  I’ll send our regards all the same.”  A breath of air escaped him, flaring his nostrils in an amused huff.  “It seems a bit excessive for my tastes, but I suppose they want to make a statement. Out with the old, in with the new. "

Gratitude fueled her smile.  It wasn’t something she was interested in either, neither the public demonstration nor the demolition itself.  Implosion, she reminded herself, not some quiet pick-apart job, but the complete and instant destruction of a building, one blasting cap at a time.  

Her thoughts came to a slow stop and then were overtaken by the gradual dawning of an idea.  She considered it, eyes narrowing, and then her lips parted, taking in a small breath before she spoke.

“Actually… perhaps I would like to go after all.”  She made a point of not looking at him in the brief silence, opting to re-form the turret between her fingers instead with a lofted eyebrow.  “It could prove to be interesting.”

His voice came in return, curious and not entirely enthused.  “... very well, then. I’ll let them know we’re coming. I suppose it’s likely better to have a public face for Vishkar present, anyway.”

He hesitated a moment longer and she glanced toward him with a faint smile.  “Most likely.”  

She didn’t intend to be it.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a small lil' chapter, had to get some things set up. but the next one? I like the next one :3


	7. Rio de Janeiro: Pt. 2

How she managed to not be present for the ceremony she wasn’t entirely sure.

She’d begun to think it was a mistake to come near-immediately.  They’d barely exited the plane before being greeted with what felt like too much enthusiasm, and while the cheeriness of their hosts was no doubt meant to be pleasant, something about it felt overbearing.  There was to be no stop at the hotel. At the request of Sanjay it was meant to be a short trip, a quick sweep through the city to the ceremony and then away again mere hours later, a few more diplomatic stops elsewhere, and then back to Hyderabad and their own comfortable beds.  Or at least, that was the plan.

Once at the mayor’s office her people had seized upon their presence as if they’d never had any form of company before, going about prepping them for their part in the ceremony (which was to be little more than standing and smiling), but it was easy—and not even dishonest—for Satyal to claim that all of it was simply more overwhelming than she was comfortable with.  And while she felt a slight pang of guilt for Sanjay as she was dismissed and he was swarmed, instead, she breathed a sigh of relief for more reasons than one.  

She still rode to the demolition site with him.  She held to the excuse that she would like to observe the process, but that standing still in front of so many people, no matter how short the speech was supposed to be, would simply be untenable.  And so she slipped away as quickly as possible on exiting the car, casting Sanjay and the mayor a quick glance as they positioned themselves at the base of the stairs to the small stage, chatting with one-another so easily that she wouldn’t even have imagined how large the crowd was without actually seeing it for herself.

A sea of faces stretched out into the street, crowding the sidewalks and stretching well over a block outward.  Their bodies weren’t packed too tightly together for her to feel short of breath, but even just looking was slightly claustrophobic all the same.

She began to question the wisdom of having come at all, let alone the plan of wading out into the crowd.  But she’d already made the decision; she hadn’t flown halfway across the globe to simply stand there at the side of a stage listening to high-minded speeches followed—counter-intuitively, she thought—by the complete destruction of an entire, massive structure.  She had a very specific reason to be there.

And so she stepped out past the security line with a gracious smile to the guard and into the crowd, hanging close to the buildings at the edge of the sidewalk where other passers-by just trying to get through their days had made a path as well.  In her occasional glance over the crowd she noticed it: a not-insignificant number of people huddled together in patchwork groups amongst the rest of the crowd holding signs, most written in a language she didn’t understand, but others still managing to be completely clear nonetheless.  An array of small buildings, all on fire. A picture of the mayor accompanied by black, angry-looking letters. And, most obvious of all, a sign with the word ‘Vishkar’ in big block letters, stamped over with a bright red ‘X’.

Despite her clothes—innocuous enough, cut to look like street clothes but with subtly interwoven Vishkar colors—she shifted her eyes away and felt her spine go slightly rigid as she continued by with a frown.  She hadn’t expected protesters. She hadn’t expected anything remarkable at all, really.

But she continued moving until she was well past them, and while it came with relief it also came with a new realization; the number of people was far larger than expected, enough so that the faces of the masses began to blur together as she looked out over them, and it seemed like the harder she tried to focus the more their features slipped past her ability to fully take them in.

It came with new doubts of why she was even there, and within a few minutes she faltered and stopped, retreating to the edge of a building and—finding some degree of personal space—leaned back against it with a sigh, giving up either from the visual exhaustion of trying to distinguish anything noteworthy or from simple frustration.

What was she doing?

She would never be able to find him, not with this many people, and that was if he was even  _ there _ .  And even if she did the question remained: why was she bothering?  She had missed receiving the letters, true—they were a surprise, some small, exciting thing that she’d begun looking forward to, small nudges that sent her on a path to something new.  And the fact that the dessert suggestions were usually fantastic didn’t hurt. She took in a deep breath in hopes of staving off her irritation and released it as a sigh, closing her eyes for a  moment and simply breathing. Perhaps it was better to think of it the way she had said it to Sanjay—perhaps it was worth being here, after all. Perhaps it would be interesting.

She lifted her head, mentally shook herself off, and set her shoulders, intent on continuing onward up the street, but in the second she took to steel herself a flicker of light caught her eyes and she blinked, looking more intently, trying to pick it out.

It was gone, whatever it had been.  But in her stare across the street she narrowed her eyes gently, brow furrowed as they settled on something—broad but curved shoulders.  Nothing, perhaps, but something in the shape seeming familiar all the same.

Careful not to let her eyes shift inadvertently away, she pushed off away from the building and stepped carefully out into the crowd-filled street, picking her way awkwardly through.  It was a tedious and irritating process and it forced her to shift her attention to the moving bodies in front of her, but eventually her feet hit the curb of the sidewalk she’d crossed the street for, and she stepped onto it with a wave of relief intense enough to briefly distract her from what she’d travelled there for in the first place.  And when she lifted her head, remembering, the form she’d crossed the street for was only a short distance away and even more convincing.

The person’s body was slightly curled forward and it was more apparent for it that their true height was much taller.  The sunglasses on their face were framed by thick eyebrows, blond hair stuck out unevenly from the ball cap on their head, and underneath, completing the profile was the presence of a distinctive sharp nose.

The name left her before she had much chance to stop it.

“Jamie?”

He lifted his head immediately, fully attentive and peering straight toward her.  It was an immediate, reflexive, and entirely unhidden action; it was clear it hadn’t been even remotely filtered.  He responded just as loudly and just as obviously as his physical reaction had been.

“Satya?”

She hadn’t considered the thought that he might address her, somehow.  She hadn’t considered the possible ramifications of it. But she did immediately after her name left his mouth and her body started, her spine going rigid as she slipped between the few people standing loosely between them and took swift, stiff steps toward him and snagged his elbow along the way, fairly well dragging him behind her as she took refuge behind a drink cart.  It didn’t quite conceal them to the crowd at her back—not entirely— but it would have to do. Mostly out of sight of at least the majority of the people gathered, she lowered her voice to a brisk near-whisper that didn’t sound entirely patient.

“What on earth are you doing here?”

He was holding a glass bottle full of red liquid, a straw sticking out of it and his lips had curled in a sharp-toothed grin that was wide enough that it made just how pleased he was absolutely clear.

“Here for the demolition!  Saw it was gonna be bloody huge.  Eight  _ tons _ of explosives.”  He attempted to reign in what was becoming obvious excitement by clearing his throat and managing to quiet the smile, doing his best at a careless shrug as he spoke, but the grin started creeping in between the words once again.  “Or, y’know. Big mobs of ‘em.”

It was  _ exactly  _ as she had predicted it.  And while she still undoubtedly felt the nerves of standing too-openly in front of both him and a massive crowd there was a sense of pleasure—she wasn’t sure if at her own insight or at the sight of him—welling upward that she did her own to fight, in turn.

She had made the mistake of simply watching him as her thoughts ran but it didn’t much matter—he seemed remarkably distractible, his teeth resorting to holding tight to his lower lip to keep his expression from running rampant and his weight beginning to bounce on his toes as he turned his head toward the building, still visible despite their new angle but only just.  It was easier to say while he wasn’t paying attention, or at least her slight tone of disappointment felt less vulnerable with his attention elsewhere.

“I stopped getting your letters.”

He turned his head back to her with a slight pause, his mind clearly taking a moment to refocus.

“Letters?”

“Your recommendations.  For desserts?”

“... oh.”

His divided attention suddenly focused entirely on her; he glanced down at the bottle held in his hand, moving it in a small circle until the liquid inside did so as well with a faint frown on his lips.

“Couldn’t find ya.”  The reply was paired with a careful shrug that felt in some way as if it was hiding something.  “Didn’t get a message so I reckoned… well, I dunno, really.”

She was distracted by the way his shoulders had moved, and the words only made it seem more unclear.  But she didn’t have the time to ask for clarification—he cleared his throat once again and continued with a voice that still didn’t sound entirely sure of itself.  

“You like ‘em, though?”

She dropped her chin to stare at him from under her eyebrows with a voice that dripped with sarcasm.  

“Do you truly need me to answer that question?”

“... er.  Yeah?”

“I would not have kept following your trails of breadcrumbs if I didn’t like them.”

Her voice was firm, matter-of-fact, and if there was any lingering uncertainty on his part it vanished under the spread of a bright, pleased smile that seemed somehow completely different from the one he had offered her earlier, and while there seemed to still be a distraction in him it didn’t seem quite the same either, as if it were coming from a different source. 

“One ‘a my many areas of expertise, darl’.”

She allowed a small breath of a laugh to escape her.  

“You seem to have many of those.  I suppose being constantly on the run doesn’t hurt, either.”

His chin dipped downward to accommodate a gentle snicker and she felt a brief wave of relief—the reminder of his outlaw status seemed like something that could have brought a negative reaction, but there was no sign of one.  The thought of his constant movement brought another thought to her, though, and she glanced sidelong on either side of them in a brisk search of the crowd, certain she couldn’t have missed him. There were plenty of people milling about, a variety of them wearing some form of sunglasses, but she knew such a thing could never hide a mask, and there was no hint of the large, hulking man Jamie was most typically seen with.

“Where’s Mako?”

“Eh.”  His expression fell to something bored and slightly disparaging, seeming disinterested in the topic.  “Said it wasn’t his cup ‘a tea. Somethin’ about it being nothin’ new.”

“Ah.  I see.”  Her eyes stayed on him for a moment longer before she risked another comment, dragging herself into it not entirely willingly.  “... is that safe?”

“What, me bein’ out on my todd?”  He blinked at her with clear bemusement and for a moment it seemed he might want to be offended before he was distracted by the straw in front of him, curling his lips around it to take a drink of the red liquid inside.

“I meant for either of you.”

Abandoning the drink, Jamie raised a hand as if to wave her away and lifted his chin, clearly dismissive of the idea.  “Trust me, love. We can both take care of ourselves.”

She raised her eyebrows carefully as she looked at him.  It must be true—it wasn’t as if he didn’t know what he was doing with explosives, after all—but even so she felt like she’d never seen the two of them apart, or at least not in a way that it seemed they couldn’t pair up again within a few minutes.

“Alright, then.  I’ll trust you.”

He raised his shoulders and the shrug came with immediately-brightened features, the prior thought dissipating from his mind near-instantly.  “Careful sayin’ that kind of thing, love.”

She smirked and he returned the expression before she saw the hints of a series of blinks behind the dark shades of his sunglasses before he spoke.

“Actually—”  His tone was entirely neutral, and perhaps that made what followed all the more surprising.  “What’re you doin’ here?”

It was the question she somehow hadn’t thought might come and it blindsided her.  She had no prepared response, somehow hadn’t even thought of the possibility of it, and she stared blankly at him for a moment before turning her eyes back out to the crowd, still not managing to put any form of expression on her face.  The absolute silence and blankness was probably worse than any other option, but her voice kicked in as if by its own volition and answered the question even as she kept her eyes elsewhere.

“I’m… here on security.”

“Huh.  Didn’t reckon somethin’ like this would need it.”

There was no hint of disbelief in his voice, rather it was as harmless as a verbal shrug, and while she felt the relief rush through her her eyes remained elsewhere—stuck, it seemed, out on the ocean of faces.

“Guess some of the crowd ain’t all that friendly toward you blokes, though.  Makes some kinda sense.”

It was partially a way to avoid having to address the topic.  She wasn’t sure which aspect made her more uncomfortable—not having a suitable excuse to be there, or the crowd not being entirely welcoming toward Vishkar agents… let alone what  _ he _ might think of that.  Either through luck or conscious decision he didn’t make any comment on it.

But it did bring a thought to her all the same.  There  _ was _ Vishkar security.  Small, telltale signs: the subtly-colored clothes, much like her own, those wearing them paired together wearing sunglasses and looking over-all impeccable.  It might not stick out terribly much in a crowd, but she realized there were people scattered throughout who didn’t seem at all fittingly clothed for the event.

It was something she should have simply known, or at the very least thought about—it would make no sense to simply let the situation alone.  No, rather than allow any risk the crowd would naturally be peppered with agents ready to quash any unruliness.

She suddenly had no idea how she hadn’t thought of it before.

She immediately felt her nerves beginning to hum before taking a breath to calm them and returning her attention to Jamie, who had still been speaking in the background, by all appearances unaware her mind was elsewhere.

“—so I reckoned I’d get a fizzy drink.  Strawberry. Y’want a drink of—”

“I think it might be unwise for you to be here.”

“Ey?”

He stopped, a crease forming on his brow, and could hear the burgeoning offense in his voice.  So she turned her attention abruptly toward him, narrowing one eye with dry impatience.

“I’m fairly certain there are undercover agents here.”

“... ain’t that what you are?”

It threw her slightly off-guard.  That had been the story.  

“Not… exactly.  My role is complicated.”

She had no idea how to deflect from it, but luckily he seemed more than happy to distract from the idea, caught up in his own running thoughts; he chased after the words with an amused snort and when she looked to him fully she found him in full-grin, standing at his full height once again with an entirely unconcerned grin on his face.

“—just like I said in London—”

She lowered her chin to speak to him with a harder, more deliberate voice.  “Ones keeping a lookout for you.”

“Everyone’s always on the lookout for me, love.  ‘s why I’ve got this disguise.” He lifted his hand to flick the bill of his hat and she reached up immediately to tug it down, hard and stubborn enough that he made a small sound of indignation.

“I  _ mean  _ ones who would be more than happy to turn you in to the authorities.”  She didn’t want to deal with any implications of it and curled her fists at her side, frustrated, trying again with obvious irritation in her voice as she focused her attention on him fully to make the point.  “I mean… ones who may be specifically  _ looking _ for you, with the explicit goal of  _ catching _ you.”

He lifted his head careful inches from where she had pulled his hat hard enough to force it down and carefully adjusted the piece of clothing, as if concerned if he did it incorrectly she might pull on it again.  But a laugh burst from him all the same—not as loud as it could be, but infuriatingly loud regardless—a carefree, genuinely amused thing. He opened his mouth with an inward gust of air in clear indication he was about to speak and in pre-emptive revenge she shoved her hand against his lips, resulting in his surprised ‘mmf’ escaping half-muffled from behind her palm.  

It seemed to finally force some degree of sincerity into him.  Despite her hard, unwavering stare he reached up carefully and took her wrist, pulling her hand away cautiously as if the action itself might get him some other form of retribution.

“Christ, love… didn’t mean anythin’ by it—”

“Hush.”

He failed to stop speaking entirely but at least he lowered his voice; as if to emphasize it his body bent as well, his brow furrowed as he leaned slightly toward her to accommodate the volume.

“So it’s what, like, some kinda sting?”

Her own voice remained low and no less frustrated than before even as she cast a glance over her shoulder.  She found no one looking despite their conversation, and while a heavy cloud of doubt began to creep in the uneasiness was still there.  Regardless of anything it wasn’t like in London. The weren’t on some largely secluded street with only a chance of some authority passing by.  They were actually surrounded by authorities on alert. Not alert for him, necessarily, but on high alert all the same.

“No, no, it’s…”  Her lips tugged downward uncertainly before she shook her head, giving up the thought.  What exactly it was or wasn’t didn’t truly matter. “It isn’t, not primarily. But it might still be a good excuse to look for you.”  She made a point of glancing sideward, unwilling to look at him straight-on. “... an educated guess you might show up.”

She almost explained her reasoning for being there in the first place without realizing it before stopping herself, heart skipping a beat.

“I don’t know.”  Honesty, strangely, felt like a relief and she allowed herself a deep breath and a sigh.  “But it’s unwise for you to simply be standing out in the open regardless when there are a significant number of trained agents actively looking for trouble.”

With her argument—and likely helped by her sincerity—he seemed to start paying more attention, lifting his chin just slightly and no doubt glancing over the crowd.  He seemed to have been at least somewhat convinced by her if the way he shifted his weight on the peg leg uneasily was any indication. No one was looking at them, but if she was right she had no idea how long that might be the case, and while he’d adopted a ‘disguise’ the metal arm and leg were just as distinctive as ever, the recognizability of the rest of him aside.  It didn’t take her long to reach a decision.

“Follow me.”

It was unfortunate, how he never seemed to simply listen.  And as she had begun to expect he tipped his head to the side instead, his brow furrowed as he looked at her, still with that slight lean to keep his voice unnecessarily low.

“What?  Where?”

“We’re going to leave.”

“But darl’—”

“If you won’t keep yourself out of trouble it seems I’ll have to do it for you.”  

She preferred not to think about her own position in all of it.  It was there, though, the thought. Lurking in the back of her mind.  He distracted her from it as she realized his voice had fallen behind.

“I’ll miss it, love.”

There was a worrisome, sincere tone of dismay to it and it was enough for her to look back to him with an eyebrow raised in question.  He hadn’t moved from where she’d left him and he turned his eyes from her back to the building farther up the street, his lips pulled back slightly in indecision.

She knew she could undermine his distress with a bit of care and the right words, but she didn’t often have the right words.  So instead she looked at him for a long moment, thinking, and came across something that seemed acceptable, true or not.

“Then we’ll find somewhere else to watch from.”

It was clear that he was still hesitant, but she nodded him toward her and started forward, not entirely certain at first where her goal was.  But it came into view eventually and required only a bit of pushing through the crowd: a narrow access street, more open than she would like but likely the best they would get, and largely empty once they made it a short distance inside; it offered no view whatsoever of the derelict building.  A glance back proved he was following, quickly closing the gap, and even better he was keeping his head down. Of course, he still moved with that distinctive limp. Regardless, no one they’d passed seemed to be paying them much attention.

Even just slipping into the alley and leaving the sight of the vast majority of the crowd was a massive relief and she allowed herself a sigh as he caught up beside her, glancing over his shoulder and shoving one hand deep in his pocket, holding the soda bottle with the other, his body adopting his familiar, bent posture as he settled into an easy pace.  Her words had apparently soothed his nerves—she was inordinately proud of that. For the time being, anyway. She decided not to think how she might feel when it came time to find an actual solution. As if aware of her thoughts, his voice came to her in a murmur.

“You sure we’re gonna find someplace?”

She had no answer that felt solid enough to trust but she gave one anyway, one that was vague enough that it didn’t sound like an untruth.  

“Don’t worry.  I have some ideas.”

She didn’t.  But it didn’t stop her from managing to sound assuring somehow, and they continued on in silence for a moment or two before his voice split the quiet once again.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.  Fair dinkum.”

It was unexpected and her eyes flitted toward him curiously, one narrowed as she searched his face.

“How so?”  Unsatisfied, she clarified, attempting to keep her tone neutral with another half-truth.  “This is a Vishkar function, after all.”

A shrug rolled over his shoulders lazily and he looked forward once again, plodding toward their uncertain goal. 

“Dunno.  Security or not, I reckoned you could wriggle outta this one.  Didn’t seem like somethin’ you’d be interested in.” He paused to clear his throat before continuing.  “Blowin’ stuff to smithereens an’ all.”

She didn’t have much to offer except the truth of why she had come; luckily she didn’t have to.  A voice interrupted their conversation.

_ “My fellow Cariocas…” _

The words echoed gently overhead and sank into their narrow street, muffled slightly by the walls and the other sounds flowing through it from the crowd.  It made it seem soft and much farther away than it was, otherworldly and disconnected even as her ears caught on the words and she found herself inadvertently listening.

_ “… thank you for joining us on this historic day as we take yet another step further into the future, one that begins with a new partnership…” _

There was a pause and the sound of the audience welled into it—a mix of applause and low, disparaging sounds that wove together in a chorus that drowned out the voice coming through the speaker as it tried to continue.  She chanced a look toward Jamie. He had lifted his head, his chin tilted slightly upward, his lips pressed in a thin, thoughtful line, one eye had narrowed—a thick eyebrow lowered just above the top frame of his sunglasses.  

_ “... Vishkar… shining beacon of…” _

It felt as if she could see Sanjay standing there, his hands clasped easily behind his back and his posture perfect in the midst of it.  She knew he would be unflappable. She was glad she wasn’t there.  

_ “... the people of our beautiful city…” _

The thought of Sanjay was enough that she turned toward Jamie, forcing the words into the background as she reached for his attention.

“Jamie.”

He was still listening to the speech, seeming fully unaware of her presence as the words continued.  

_ “... creating common ground…” _

“ _ Jamie _ .  Come on.”

He snapped to attention, staring at her as the words finally seemed to fade for him as well, and then lowered his head, peering toward her from behind the sunglasses with a raised eyebrow as if he’d forgotten she was there.  She pushed past his inquisitive look, answering before he had the chance to ask.

“We shouldn’t be standing around.”

He gave his head a brisk shake and nodded, lifting his drink with a sudden grin toward her.

“Righto, let’s get cracking, then.  Onward and upward!”

The speech droned on in the background.  She had no interest in it but it was a distraction all the same, muddling all of the other sounds available to her.  Jamie didn’t help much; between the sound of his peg-leg and the remains of the soda bubbling not-entirely-quietly up the straw it was a jumble of mismatched tones.  Still not certain where they were going other than ‘away from the main event’ along the street, even with all the other sounds she heard it: multiple pairs of footsteps, loud and approaching the corner where their alley met another only a short distance away.  Quickly, and without so much as thinking, she pushed Jamie forcefully into a small alcove at their side, a door tucked inside it. The catastrophic sound of glass clattering on the seam in the stones under their feet made it immediately clear that her efforts didn’t matter: Jamie had dropped the bottle.  At the very least it overshadowed his ‘hrk!’ of surprise, muffled further by her hand following shortly after, shoved ungently against his mouth, or rather, the entire left side of his face.

The sound of the glass had made her wince but she recovered quickly, pressing harder into the alcove despite the futility of it and looking over her shoulder to see, reluctantly, what was coming.  There was just enough time for a spike of fear before it simply continued past, the sound of rubber slapping against the pavement reaching a fever pitch before beginning its retreat. She was treated to a brief flash of strange looks from a group of children passing by—in a rush, no doubt, to find a spot to watch the demolition.  But both they and their inquisitive stares were gone a moment later and she took a deep breath and slumped forward with a sigh of gratitude.

“Thank the gods.”

There was a muffled sound of agreement and she paused, blinking, and abruptly took stock of where she was.  Her prosthetic hand was clinging tightly into the fabric of Jamie’s shirt and her forehead had briefly taken refuge just below his collar bone, and as she lifted her head she realized that her hand was still well and firmly pressed against him in a way that both managed to press the bill of his hat down over half of his face and still partially cover his mouth.  He remained still for a moment, perhaps in an attempt to simply be polite, but as she attempted to shake off the shock of the past few seconds he tried again, stretching his neck farther toward the corner to try to escape the hand still shoved against his face.

“Darl’?  You’re crushin’ the moneymaker…”

She glanced carefully over her shoulder once again to be sure they were alone and only afterward gently removed her hand.  He stayed where he was until she let go of him with the prosthetic as well, possibly expecting to be shoved back into the corner at any moment.  It wasn’t until a few more seconds had passed before he reached up and carefully readjusted the hat and the sunglasses underneath it, both of which had been set severely askew, and followed with an exaggerated pinching of his features, wrinkling his nose severely as if  those needed to be fixed, as well. At any rate it seemed he recovered quickly. There was an apology in her voice all the same.

“I didn’t want them to see your face...”

Despite being his more typical high-pitched giggle the laugh was, thankfully, quiet—it was a relief to know he hadn’t forgotten where they were.

“You sure that ain’t just you?”

There had been a blink of time in which she could have wondered.  It had briefly flashed, true, with that spike of fear: what was she even doing?

She certainly wouldn’t have been able to draw any straight line to how she got there.  How she ended up hiding a _ very _ well known and criminal with genuine concern that he may be caught, trying, for some reason, despite the potential dangers and repercussions of it, to help him do some ultimately completely pointless thing.  True, something harmless and something he obviously desperately wanted. But fulfilling her promise to him was so inconsequential in the larger scale of things that it was only more mystifying that she was bothering in the first place.

But she laughed quietly instead and the moment was over, interrupted near immediately by the  loud blare of a warning siren in one single, low tone. The speech had ended somewhere in their close call and they had moved to the next part of the process.  Jamie’s chin lifted immediately with it, his features both brightening and gaining an impatient sort of panic as his body tensed. He sucked in a breath as his eyes widened, pointed upward into the thin sliver of sky above them as if he might be able to see the sound itself, and as he lowered her head to look back at her he muttered in an utterly sincere voice.

“Time to crack the whip, love!”

And he was gone, or rather, he was slipping away past her.  Something—maybe instinct—caused her to reach out and pull him back in, pushing him back harder against the wall, enough that a small, surprised gust of air left him.  She shoved her hands against his shoulders and she focused a hard look on his face as the gentle static of a radio echoed in the air where the horn blast had finally faded out.  As if aware both of his mistake and of what she intended to do next, his eyebrows raised in a look of surprise and he slapped both of his hands over his mouth to keep himself quiet.

Just as before there were footsteps, but these were more subdued and singular, and while the crackle of a radio came through again she couldn’t determine what was being said, only that something was being communicated.  Satisfied that he would be quiet, she narrowed an eye at him as a reminder all the same and carefully removed her hands from his shoulders to see if she could gather any more information.

Her careful glance out toward the sound’s origin gave her more information than she’d like to have: there was a Vishkar agent standing there, clear as day, facing the alley the children had  come from, with less subtle tones of Vishkar colors emblazoned down his chest. With his hand to his ear he was murmuring something into his comm device that seemed both careful and serious. Even if she had been able to hear the effort would have been interrupted; Jamie’s breath was light on her ear, carrying a voice that was remarkably quiet and controlled for him, and her eyes flicked from the man in the alley for just a moment to glance at him.  His hands were still raised, still partially covering his mouth, but his fingers were parted enough for him to offer her the cautious whisper.

“It a Vishkar bloke?”

She had enough information already; she slipped back behind the wall with him.  There was no sense risking being seen, not when she could simply listen for any approach and—hopefully—be able to hear it coming in time to do something.  What she might do… well, that she had no plan for.

Rather than speak she offered Jamie a nod and he pursed his lips together, a wrinkle forming on his brow as he looked upward once again.  The reason for the concern was obvious; the first tone meant there would be approximately five minutes before the actual demolition, and with the seconds ticking by she had no doubt it was building up anxiety in his muscles.

She lifted her eyes as well, though with an entirely different purpose; she hadn’t been certain until that moment what, exactly, to do, but with the glance upward she caught sight of the fire escape attached to the building beside them and, above it, the barely-visible edge of the roof.  A faint, tentative smile cracked her features. It could very well be perfect.

But the agent was still close, and there was no point in risking being caught, especially not when—if she weren’t immediately recognized anyway—a glowing blue teleporter appeared, regardless of how high above the alley floor it was.  And so she intended to wait, but the plan was beginning to feel tentative as she swore she could feel the energy beside her, swore she could feel Jamie physically vibrating. And she had no time to say anything to try to soothe it before she heard his voice, louder than before, paired with movement that was too quick for her to halt.  He popped his head unsubtly out from behind the corner as he spoke, leaning past her body and twisting awkwardly at the waist to do so.

“Isse gone?”

She didn’t look.  Rather, she dragged him back into both the alcove and into herself, her fingers curled in his shirt and a growing impatience in her voice.

“Do you  _ ever _ stop?”

She didn’t feel as if she needed to clarify what.  Just… what he  _ did _ .  And while the answer was clearly ‘no’ by nature she felt the need to say  _ something _ to clarify.  It came with a gentle huff of air to calm herself.

“Just… wait a moment, please.”

It didn’t seem safe to let him go, nor did it seem safe to allow him to face the alleyway any longer; she kept her grip on his shirt and backed into the small alcove, taking him with her until she felt the wall at her back and—still keeping a tight hold of him—took a deep breath, closing her eyes.  Despite it being for her own benefit she hoped that somehow it might manage to have a calming effect on him as well. The breath helped and she took another, slow and steady, and opened her eyes.

She hadn’t expected him to go quite so still quite so effectively.  Quickly taking stock, she found that his heartbeat on the backs of her knuckles had evened and his muscles loosened slightly.  Even more, within those scant moments her eyes had adjusted to the light in the alcove and she realized she could see his pupils behind the sunglasses—not focused on her own as she had hoped, but instead lowered to her lips.  It was puzzling enough that a gentle wrinkle etched its way onto her forehead and she lowered her own eyes to his, trying to find what might be so interesting, and found them ever-so-slightly parted. She had somehow missed until that moment his slightly elevated breath...missed it until she felt her own—inexplicably—do the same, the briefly shared taste of strawberry filling their lungs.

A loud voice broke the silence, booming down the alleyway.

_ “Ten…” _

She started and his head snapped up again, searching the sky with jaw gone slack.

“Satya—”

“Yes, I know.”

But he didn’t try to dart away as she might have expected, his voice kept low, and despite her elevated heartbeat she took the time to stay careful as she released his shirt and shifted her weight, looking out from the alcove in the direction the Vishkar agent had been.

_ “... nine…” _

The alley looked empty.  She gave it a moment longer to be sure.

“ _...eight… _ ”

“We’re too late, love.  Fuckin’ Christ...”

There was the faint sound of a whine to it and the curse murmured after was barely audible., the absolute dismay bogging down his voice.  She’d never heard a curse sound so despondent.

But she hadn’t gone through all the trouble to miss her promise, as well.  She lifted her hands in front of herself and began weaving with a gently lofted eyebrow and a newfound sense of purpose.  

_ “... seven…” _

“I suppose we need to find our spots then, shouldn’t we?”

_ “... six…” _

Onward and upward.

A portal bloomed into life in front of them, the gentle blue light pulsating gently, and rather than wait for the inevitable question she simply took his hand and dragged him through before he had any chance to hesitate.

They were on the rooftop that had just been above them moments ago; the portal flickered out of existence as she released him and started toward the other edge of the roof where the view would be best before he—after a long moment—finally overcame his daze and bounded past her, making the edge before she did.  His eyes widened and she heard the small, inward suck of breath as he spotted the derelict building, impossible to miss and clearer by far from their spot on the rooftop.

_ “... five…” _

He brought his hands up and flung both the sunglasses and hat carelessly to the side in a fit of excitement as if in a need to soak up the sight of it all to the fullest and then he was at the edge of the building, bobbing on his toes as he craned his body out over it before turning his gaze back to her with a wide, exuberant grin.

_ “... four…” _

“This is brilliant, love!  Absolutely brilliant!”

She had been right about their approximate location; they had about the most ideal spot as was possible to watch.  Sidling up to the edge next to him she regarded him for a moment before gently taking hold of the folds of his shirt at his back and pulling him slightly backward; despite the waist-high wall he was leaning far enough forward that it seemed unwise.  He leaned back easily with the tug.

“How often do people have to tell you to be careful?”

“I reckon you’d be the first.”

It came with a loud laugh and it seemed like the first thing he was fully aware of since they’d alighted on the rooftop.  As if to prove it true he fixed her with a grin that seemed far more focused before it was interrupted by the sound of a voice echoing over a loudspeaker.

_ “... three…” _

She wasn’t particularly interested in it herself, or at least not from anything other than a scientific point of view.  But it was more interesting how—with each number counted down—it seemed as if his eyes grew wider and his grip on the cement wall got tighter and in the moment the amplified voice said ‘one’ his jaw went slack, his lips adopting an anticipatory curl.

It seemed as if the outside world ceased to exist for him for the last two seconds.

It wasn’t nearly as loud as she expected.  In fact, it was almost eerily muffled; the series of blasts couldn’t be seen, could only be partially heard, but what was obvious was the way the building was spitting out small plumes of smoke between the seams that opened up and the way the supports cracked then buckled, not all at once but in a carefully-designed sequence, and for one slow second it seemed as if the building might simply stay before it began an oddly orderly, restrained fall that seemed slower than could have actually been possible.

It seemed like it might be disappointing: she’d seen his explosions before.  Extravagant, bright things, not always colorful but always showy, while this…

The demolition seemed far more utilitarian and, she suddenly thought, boring by comparison.  But as the last of the building fell in on itself her glance sideward toward him proved that it was far from the case.  He was still watching intently, his eyes locked on the rubble as the very last pieces of it settled, the dust began to rise, and a sudden, broad grin spread once more across his features as he spoke in a murmured, almost reverent tone.

“Eight bloody tons.”

Despite herself her lips curled upward in a faint, wry smile, enjoying his seeming-obliviousness to everything around himself but the destruction that had just occurred.  His hands had somehow ended up in his hair sending it into yet more chaotic disarray than the hat had done, and he marveled again for a moment before abruptly stopping and staring at her.

“Eight bloody  _ tons! _   And the best seat in the house!”

He’d turned his grin toward her, his fists leaving his hair and held near his chest instead, seeming to vibrate once again with the restrained energy, his teeth bared in a look of absolute euphoria.  The words burst from him in one relieved breath, the tone packed with obvious gratitude.

“Christ, love, am I glad you showed up.  I’d’ve been stuffed.”

Her own breath escaped in a gentle chuckle.

“I’m sure you would have managed to slip away.”

“Nah, love, I mean the show!  Would’ve missed it entirely.”

“Ah, of course.”  Her hand found a place to rest on her hip.  “It’s good to see you still have your priorities in order.”

She wasn’t entirely certain he heard her.  His chest still rose and fell with obvious enthusiasm as he looked bright-eyed out over the destruction, and she watched him with thoughtful amusement for a moment before deliberately moving into his field of view—or at least, what she thought had to be his peripheral vision.  She wasn’t certain why. Nor was she certain why her voice was so soft.

“As it is, you’re welcome.”

There was no time for her to do anything but note his curious, broad smile and the way his strange yellow eyes gleamed in the sunlight before she was enveloped entirely; strands of wild blond hair pressed against her cheek as his arms wrapped around her, his left pulling her close and his prosthetic at her upper back but gently, as if he still had the presence of mind of its roughness.  It felt like reflex; her arms curled quickly around his neck, one hand clutching a shoulder and the other held to the back of his head instinctively keep herself close as the world spun for a moment and then, quite suddenly, her feet were back on the ground and somehow she was disentangled entirely with nothing but the shock and disordered hair to show it had happened at all.

Her muddled mind came back to the world to find him laughing, but it was a strange one—or at least, not one she’d heard from him.  It was a quiet and simple elation and he’d curled with it all the same but, again, different, and his closed eyes opened to focus on her with a lopsided but pleasant smile.

“I reckon that’s about the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”  One more laugh escaped him—a brisk, airy thing like the pop of a dying fire—and he breathed, finally seeming to come back to the world.  “That’s bloody ironic, ain’t it?”

The words sat in the quiet for a moment.  Still in mild shock, she felt like she was only able to stare until she abruptly remembered the embrace, the spin, and her mind slipped to her hair and clung to the thought of it, grateful for the distraction.  She reached up carefully to smooth it, tucking strands back to where they belonged, and somewhere outside of her own attempts to gather her mind she heard his voice meander into her consciousness.

‘Er, ah… what I meant was…”

She lifted her eyes.  He looked absolutely shocked.  She imagined her own expression likely matched, even after the time she’d taken to try to rid herself of it.  And they stared at one another for a second that seemed interminable before his body abruptly shook in a burst of nervous laughter, the sound pitched briefly upward.  It continued for only a moment and seemed to leave him breathless; his voice was still airy and strained when he tried it.

“Thanks.”

He stiffly shoved his hand—his left hand—toward her in an obvious gesture meant to be joined by her own.  A quick, absolutely baffled look at his face proved he was staring at his hand rather than at her and seemed no less confused by any of it.  Feeling as if she were suddenly involved in a strange new social ritual she didn’t understand, she reached tentatively out and took his palm into that of her gauntlet, raising her eyes to watch his features again.  He gave it two firm shakes with his cheeks puffed outward as if he were holding his breath before abruptly withdrawing.

It reminded her of their first time in Rio, when he’d let her go, although somehow even stranger and more uncertain now.  True, it hadn’t fit then, but it felt so far from reality that she had to shake her head to dispel it.

And then it was silent, as if nothing had happened at all.  She had the suspicion that he might not be able to say anything more and, when the gentle clearing of his throat seemed to confirm it, she went with the first thing she could think of.

“... so... how was it?”

He blinked, looking puzzled once again.  His prosthetic arm curled carefully over his stomach and his left arm sat atop it at his elbow, his hand moving slowly up to his mouth as if, if he just moved slowly enough, the movement might not be noticed.  It was a clear mental calculus as he looked at her and his teeth found the tip of a black-painted nail, biting on it uneasily before he even dared to try something.

“I, uh…”

Confused for a moment herself, she was hit with a sudden realization of the other possible interpretation and despite her embarrassment she spoke carefully, feeling as if she managed not to show it by not stumbling over herself and sounding confident.

“The demolition.”

He had less composure; it was easily evident in another nervous laugh.

“Right!  Righto. Just… tryin’ to come up with the right words…”

He spun in a perfect half-circle on the peg-leg to leave his back to her and his body remained rigid as his right hand raised to rub the back of his neck uncomfortably.  His prosthetic hand found solace in the fold of his pocket. But within a moment his shoulders lowered ever-so-slightly and it seemed safe to approach, particularly as his voice drifted to her from over his shoulder.

“Pretty good, I reckon.  Nothing to have a whinge about.  But I’ve seen better.”

It was easier to inch closer to him while his back was turned, and she was grateful that he didn’t turn when she spoke.

“That seems like faint praise considering how pleased you were mere seconds ago.”

His eyes shifted to her as she sidled next to him with a sharp look.

“I appreciate  _ every  _ explosion, darl’.  Eight tons, though?  I’ve seen better done with less.  Quality over quantity.”

“And when have you seen better?”

He turned his gaze toward her with a slow-growing wicked grin. 

“Gimme eight tons and I’ll show ya just what it can do.”

It was a rare expression, but one that she found she quite liked, even as she responded with a mocking, false-irritated huff of a laugh.

“Of course, I managed to forget.”  Feeling as if her point wasn’t quite made she set her hands down on the cement wall and looked out over the remains of the building.  “We, however, are required to hold certain safety standards.”

He physically leaned into her field of view to fix her with a look—narrowed eyes and his lips in an indignant curve.

“Oi now, I got safety standards.”

She took a moment to allow her eyes to flick over the whole of him to add to the theatrics of it.

“ _ How _ exactly did you lose your limbs?”

She hadn’t fully thought over the words.  Perhaps she had simply forgotten in their teasing, gotten too comfortable, and he paused, staring at her.  Eyes still narrowed, a gentle crease formed in his brow above them and for a moment it looked as if he were trying to solve a problem as quickly as possible before evidently failing.  His voice came in a low mumble.

“Didn’t say I’ve  _ always  _ had ‘em…”

And he looked away, back out over the rubble, the indignant look gone but still seeming sour with his lips pressed together in a pout.  It was his quiet that made her wonder if she’d gone too far. She had no idea, after all, how it might have happened, and she admonished herself with the sudden realization that of  _ course _ it was likely traumatic.  She couldn’t think of a scenario where it wouldn’t be.  It was just that she’d become used to seeing him with his usual humor, and the idea that it might not protect him from everything was a new one.  One that had made her quite suddenly feel awful.

She glanced down at her own prosthetic before looking back to him, searching his face, and didn’t find her definitive answers.

“I’m sorry if I shouldn’t have asked.”

He lifted his head and his gaze returned to her but his expression was unhelpful.  She thought it might be puzzlement, some sort of vague surprise in the way his eyebrows knitted inward, but she didn’t feel any confidence in it as she went on.

“I only… I’m never certain if you’re joking or being sincere.”

Tipping his head to the side as he looked at her, he glanced her up and down before straightening seriously—or at least, by all appearances.  It was a remarkably brief disguise.

“All part of the  _ mystique _ , darl’.”  

With the word he dramatically splayed his hands in front of his face before moving them to the sides to highlight the wide grin that had formed on it.  She smiled faintly despite herself, something she tried to make look as annoyed as she could. He hadn’t answered anything, after all. But he giggled in satisfaction and stood up straight, waving it all away with a flick of his mechanical wrist and a pleasant bob of his head as he spoke.

“No dramas.  I’m an open book.  Just don’t go askin’ about me mysterious past."

She offered him a gentle, derisive look.

“Not much of an open book, then.”

The grin on his features widened enough that his gold tooth gleamed in the sunlight.

“Nah, I keep my cards on the table.  Just missin’ a few pages, love.”  

He lifted his prosthetic hand to tap at his temple, dipped his chin with a wink, and lowered his hands to rest idly on the edge of the roof with a pleasant giggle, turning his attention away.

She was certain he barely saw the smirk but was glad it hid her relief all the same, although—if he would have been watching—it could still be seen in the quiet sigh she released and the way she lowered her eyes for a moment, balanced herself, and then looked out again.  

It was a strangely comfortable silence, certainly not something she would have expected at any part of the event when she agreed to attend, and maybe it was the peace that let her mind wander.  But something pulled at her attention; for a moment she thought it was simply the faint breeze that welled up, but even after tucking a misplaced strand of hair behind her ear it lingered. And rather than anywhere else, her attention demanded that when she lifted her head that she shift her eyes directly to him.

It was there for only an instant: reminiscent of before, his brows still knit together in a manner that lent the expression a look of concern mixed with a thin, strange curve of his lips in a barely-visible lopsided smile that she felt she hadn’t ever seen—something both troubled and pleasant all at once.

It pulled hard at her stomach, hard enough that her breath went short with it for a second or two and she stared at him with wide eyes as he turned quickly away, his own expression registering shock.  She looked away quickly after.

This particular silence was not comfortable at all.

She’d expected some joke or some irreverent comment from him to save them both; instead she heard him clear his throat quietly and—when it seemed like nothing else was forthcoming—took a breath to speak without having any plan as to what it might be.  She didn’t have the chance. His voice tripped over the words, making them sound just as spontaneous as hers would have been.

“How’d you lose yours?  Your arm I mean. "

Any concern she had about him or the scenario itself was immediately gone.  It was almost an instinctive reaction: she pulled away from the cement wall and tucked the prosthetic to her body, held straight along her side, her hand clutching it into place.  Her voice was quiet and soft, against her own wishes.

“I’d rather not talk about that right now.”

She could see his brisk nod in the edge of her vision.

“Fair enough.”

The discomfort remained.  But she found, when considering the option, that she was still unwilling to go—particularly on such an uncomfortable note.  Perhaps he felt the same. Stubbornness might have been the only thing that kept her there, but it also eventually let her mind wander.  As she watched the plumes of dust she could just barely see the edge of the stage she’d left behind and the screen behind it, still projecting the faint, pleasant blue lines of the Vishkar logo.

“Does it bother you that it’s for a Vishkar development?”

Her voice was ponderous, that earlier tension in the air feeling as if it had dissipated, and she turned to look at him once again to find his attention pointed forward as well.  He glanced toward her with his head tipped at a mild angle and she noted the frown before his eyes shifted away again. His weight shifted subtly from foot to peg-leg as he cleared his throat, speaking in a subdued voice that seemed more careful than typical.

“... wasn’t gonna bring  _ that _ up…”

“But it does, doesn’t it.”

He didn’t answer but instead gritted his teeth against it and it was clear he was unwilling to say.

“Why?”

“Just…”  He glanced at her warily, not letting his eyes linger too long.  “Just things seem funny sometimes.”

She wasn’t irritated yet but she knew with complete certainty that she would be soon.  Patience wasn’t always a virtue she had to spare. Her voice, at least, still sounded like she had it in abundance.

“I’d appreciate it if you spoke plainly.”

His eyes darted to her, his fingers tapped lightly on the top of the barrier in front of them, and even though he looked away again he braved a response.

“Funny coincidence is all.  Convenient. Vishkar accidentally sets the slums up in smoke, the mayor gets some shiny new real estate from it and then later she gives Vishkar a new contract and a spot ‘a their own to call home.”

He rolled a shrug over his shoulders that seemed no less careful than before and tried again.

“Just doesn’t smell right  The mayor gets what she wants and Vishkar gets what they want while everybody else who’ve already got almost nothin’ gets told to rack off.”  

He lifted a hand, gesturing vaguely out toward the destruction and followed with a low mutter that seemed as if it was meant more for himself.  

“Reminds me ‘a somethin’.”

He paused and, beginning to look frustrated himself, closed his eyes, his features pinching for a moment as he squeezed them tightly shut and he lifted a hand to scratch with slight irritation at his temple before shaking himself out and seeming to come fully to.

“I dunno how to say it.  Point is some people got richer and some people got poorer and considerin’ who caused all the trouble in the first place maybe it wasn’t the right way around.  People don’t protest for nothin’”

She watched him quietly for a moment, considering.  Not so much the words themselves, but simply him, and a thought drifted through her mind and escaped quietly, without anger.

“Did you really only come here to watch the demolition?”  It was something that needed clarifying, she realized, and so she followed it up quickly.  “Feeling the way that you do.”

He lifted his head to look toward her with a blink and seemingly genuine confusion. 

“What else would I be here for?”

“I’m not sure.  Incite a riot, or blow something  _ else  _ up, or…”  She trailed off, clearly at a loss for ideas.

“I wouldn’t do that, darl’.”

He, too, seemed a little lost from the question and she hesitated.  She wanted to ask.  _ Why wouldn’t you? _   She worried at her lip with her teeth, debating on asking about it, attempting to find the answer herself, but her mind abruptly refused to cooperate, bumping up against something but she couldn’t quite tell what it was. It didn’t fit, didn’t align, and she closed her eyes tightly and after another moment of discomfort shook it harshly away.

She was interrupted from it.

“Might be bad at bein’ undercover but I ain’t  _ that _ bad.”

Opening her eyes, she found him looking at her with his crooked, awkward grin, seemingly re-invigorated with some kind of energy.   _ That  _ she could reply to.  

“That’s debatable.”

She returned his faint snicker with a smile.  And while true, the irreverence came as a relief, despite her discomfort and the topic she felt she didn’t need much of one.  While it was welcome she found it wasn’t necessary to make the conversation bearable, but was rather simply a pleasant highlight.  Maybe it was the realization that allowed her to go on with one final question.

“Why is it that you refuse to think of me as a Vishkar employee?”  She looked at him more closely with it, watching for anything his words might give with open, genuine interest.  “You seem to take every opportunity to make it sound like I don’t belong there.”

It was clear that the question caused him at least some discomfort.  Somehow it didn’t seem as if the thought was completely foreign to him—it didn’t seem like he had to think about the answer, more as if he simply hesitated before answering.

“I reckon you wouldn’t be here talkin’ to me if you did.”

She merely looked at him, considering his response, and the thought came to her mind: why wouldn’t she?  And realized abruptly the sudden shift: it was a very different answer than what she would have given on their first meeting.

She had no idea when it happened.  The fact that it had—the fact that there was a difference at all—was curious in itself.  But rather than the anxiety she had felt before, when she had noticed it in Johannesburg, she viewed it with mild interest, turning it over in her head, filing it as something she would have to consider in more detail later.

She blinked and refocused her eyes to find him looking at her with obvious uncertainty, the features of his face lined with traces of pre-emptive unhappiness.  It caused a slight delay in her voice, still distracted somewhat by her thoughts.

“You should probably start your getaway.”

Her voice was softer than expected.  She hadn’t intended it to be, but maybe it was the lingering thoughtfulness or the nearly-indiscernible curve of his lips that deepened slightly at the suggestion.  And she felt as if she could feel the change that overtook him. His hands moved for a moment as if they might find that take their by-now-famliar place at his chest but stalled instead, dropping to his sides as his shoulders subtly lowered, the position looking like he was attempting not to make it obvious.  His eyes slipped to the side, purposefully not towards her, and the frown on his face only deepened. His own voice started quietly before he cleared his throat and lent it something more like his usual tone.

“Yeah.  Reckon.”

Uncertain how to take his expression, a gentle crease formed on her brow and she considered him for a moment before turning to find what she’d suddenly remembered: his sunglasses and hat.  And as she went to retrieve them she only heard his quiet mutter, the words indiscernible save for his own name, but the tone a clear expression of gentle irritation. She noticed abruptly that her feet had stopped in her attempt to hear it and—realizing that if she paused any longer he might notice—she moved quickly to gather them and stood, sweeping back toward him with them tucked protectively against her body.  From the slight distance she found him with his hands deep in his pockets, looking deliberately out toward the remnants of the building. She narrowed an eye as she looked at him before feigning interest in the glasses in her hand, casually inspecting them for damage as she approached.

“I’ll be in São Paulo on the 31st.  The Hotel Emiliano.” Coming to a stop, she tucked both items close to herself as she raised a dubious eyebrow at him.  “Can you remember that?”

There was an air of confusion in the way his brows were knitted together but despite it his voice was firm and decisive as if he’d just been given an order, and she supposed he had.

“Absolutely-bloody-lutely.”

“Good.”

He’d failed to move entirely, but after a moment he blinked and shook his head, seeming to come fully back to reality with a grin that—while not quite matching it—actually looked as though it could rival the intensity of the one he’d had right before the demolition.

“Better get cracking then.  Thanks again, love.”

She held the hat and sunglasses out for him to take with a single raised eyebrow and a faint smirk tugging on her lips.  

“You might not want to forget these.”

“Oh.  Righto.”

The grin turned somewhat sheepish as he slinked the short distance toward her and took both, the glasses held carefully between his fingers and the brim of the hat pinched between prosthetic digits, and as he shoved the hat unceremoniously on his head, still holding the glasses in preparation, she took the opportunity she’d created in his distraction.  

She barely had to move; Satya stepped into the empty space between them and pulled her arms around him much as he had done to her, but more carefully.  Slowly. And above all, deliberate. Her arms settled across his back and she allowed herself a moment to simply feel it from a new perspective: her cheek on his collar bone, the fabric of his shirt on her skin, and—of course—the warmth of him.

It was lacking the closeness of his breath and his arms across her back; either the surprise of it itself or the presence the glasses still in his hand kept him from being pulled in too closely.  But what it lacked in reciprocation it gained in her ability to take her time to fully observe it. And she noticed—noticed both in him and herself—that the subconsciously-expected tension wasn’t there.  It was interesting, and it left her with an open opportunity to note the slow and steady beat of his heart, much as it had been in the alcove but closer and more notable against her own chest.

Satisfied with the small experiment, she withdrew with ease and took a slow breath that felt remarkably clear.  And looking up to him she found that—despite the lack of tension in his muscles—he had frozen, locked in place, and was still holding the sunglasses and peering down at her with a strange expression.  There was surprise there, true, but something else—something thoughtful that softened his features and left him looking curious but uncharacteristically calm. That in itself seemed worth examining, but while they’d escaped any hint of discovery by authorities so far it wasn’t something she was interested in pushing, for either of their sakes.  So she lofted an eyebrow at him gently with the suggestion.

“You’d best get going.”

There was a brief pause as he blinked, as if having forgotten his surroundings entirely, but soon enough he gave her a brisk nod.

“Righto.”

He shoved the sunglasses on and briskly adjusted the brim of the hat, immediately breaking out into a more familiar grin as he started his way toward the edge of the roof and the fire escape they’d seen before their much-easier ascent-via-teleporter up to the top.  Within a moment he was at the edge and, placing a prosthetic palm on the concrete, peered down. Apparently finding it clear he grasped the edge of the ladder and swung himself outward, dropping a foot or two out of view immediately before she heard a gentle ‘clang’ of metal as he hit the first landing—apparently and surprisingly with enough thought to at least attempt some degree of quiet.  She moved to the edge of the roof and followed his example of placing her palms there, intending to lean forward over the edge to check both the alley and his progress, but before she could do anything other than reach the edge his head popped up again into view, one eyebrow lowered under the brim of the glasses and the other in a high, inquisitive arch.

“What was the name of that hotel again?”

“Hotel Emiliano.”

“Got it.”

He offered her a bright, reassuring grin and it was all she could do to keep a faint smile from creeping into her own expression and ruining the firmness of her voice.

“ _ Don’t _ get caught.”

“Me?  Nah, love.  Have you seen my disguise?”

He reached up to flick the brim of the ball cap and, already certain of what he was going to do, her hand followed and tugged it back down on his head.

“That’s why I’m concerned.”

He didn’t make a show of offense.  Rather, his grin evened out from the lopsided version he had offered her to something more subdued and he lowered his head with a quiet breath of a laugh.

“I’ll get one past ya one of these days.”

She lowered her chin to her closed fist, tipping her head to the side as she watched him, fairly certain she could guess his expression even with it out of view.

“Do you think so?”

“Hm.”  He made a show of lifting his hand to rub thoughtfully at his chin, even with his features still out of sight.  “Hard to say. Might be more fun this way.”

There was a pause in which she narrowed an eye inquisitively and, intrigued, she leaned down to try to get a more satisfying view, but his hand chose that moment to tug down gently at the bill of the hat to set it in its final placement.

“I could get used to you sussin’ me out.”

All she could see were lips pulled into a pleased grin and the brief shine of the sun on a gold tooth before he dropped his head further, turning his eyes to the ground.

“Toodle-oo, Miss Vaswani’.”

 

It would be best to wait until he was well out of sight to make her own departure, and so she turned away from the fire escape, looking toward the opposite side of the roof where she had watched the latest sign of Vishkar’s progression mere minutes before.  Maybe it was the thought that drew her back, but she crossed the roof, leaning on the wall just as Jamie had done—only without the dangerous reach—and looked at the pile of rubble. Cleanup crews were already at work removing material, collecting and hauling off unusable rubbish and wreckage in preparation for whatever shining beacon Vishkar planned to build on the spot instead.

Her lips curled into an odd frown at the thought.  There were still crowds below, visible off to the side, at an angle, well clear of all of the activity on the building site but still persisting, and she could see that some held signs, the text indistinguishable at the height.  Everything seemed quite calm—she had no doubt any misbehavior would be immediately quashed—but the mere presence of the people themselves was enough to trouble her mind.

_ People don’t protest for nothin’. _

She felt her fingers tapping at the surface they rested upon, her nails clicking gently against the cement before she stopped herself and tried to reign in her wandering mind.  It was nothing. She told herself, but it was halfheartedly said and even more halfheartedly believed, and she took in a breath to release it as a small, cautious sigh.

Regardless of what she thought about it it was underway, and she could do nothing to change or stop it.  And besides, she saw no reason to.

She drew away after a minute or so and moved back to the other side of the roof, pausing as she looked down into the space between the buildings.  Upon finding the sidestreet empty she lifted her hands, moved them in a smooth circle, and stepped through the portal to the ground below. Sanjay would be waiting for her, possibly along with the mayor, and she had likely already spent too much time absent.  But there were still the sounds of a crowd milling about and she could, at least, suggest it had taken her some time to maneuver through it—something that likely wouldn’t even be untrue. So she moved without enthusiasm toward the noise and took a deep breath as she brushed aside the memories of past hourfor later consideration: his arms around her back, her palms pressed to his, and the odd look on his face when she’d withdrawn, surprised but soft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for heck's sake jamie calm down
> 
> next stop: taipei


End file.
